


Sweet Surrender, Sweet Forgiveness

by profound-boning (farawaystardust)



Series: Sweet Surrender 'verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Actor Castiel, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - No supernatural, Athlete Castiel (Supernatural), Canonical Character Death, Celebrity Castiel, Deaths occur prior to this story, Destiel Harlequin Challenge 2017, Drunk Castiel, Enemies to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Huggy Bear Castiel, Immigrant Castiel, Ketch is a bad guy ok, Love Confessions, M/M, Meddling, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Past Drug Use, Polish Castiel, Psychiatrist Dean, Romance, Scheming, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Writer Dean, past Sam/Ruby - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 04:42:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11729712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farawaystardust/pseuds/profound-boning
Summary: "You couldn't handle it all."Dean’s eyebrows pinch together. “Is that a challenge?”Cas smirks. “A month, then.”“Six months. And then I’ll publish your biography.”





	1. The Plan

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Ashley and Kat for helping with plot development, and to both Kat and Natalia for help with the Polish! Fourteen million thank yous to Naomi for being a simply amazing beta and cheerleader. Finally, huge thanks to the mods for their love and support, and of course for running such a cool challenge!
> 
> my prompt was the book [No More Sweet Surrender](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B009YEXET2/)
> 
> the title for this fic comes from a Harry Nilsson lyric because I googled "no more sweet surrender lyrics" and there it was 
> 
> rating is M for cursing and discussion of past drug abuse and an abusive relationship

_“Look, I’m not saying Nowak is absolutely without a doubt an aggressive brute. I’ve said several times that I don’t know him personally. But his story, his reputation, it’s all there. Immigrant kid learns to fight and gets a silver medal for it: we_ rewarded _his desire to beat other guys up, and now he’s a household name with posters for his movies all over town. Putting men like that on pedestals is caveman worship.”_

_“And that’s the title of your book, Dr. Winchester?”_

_“Yes ma’am. The text includes my scholarly research on domestic partner violence and other forms of violence we see as a result of idolizing, well, Neanderthals.”_

The clip ends and reverts back to the smiling, plastic faces of the hosts.

_“There you have it folks! If you’re just tuning in, that was a clip of yesterday’s interview with Dr. Dean Winchester, a psychiatrist whose book is compelling and will make you question everything you know about hero worship. Mari, what’s your take—”_

“What a disgusting display. Honestly, you’d think he gets off on emasculating other men. Can’t imagine why.”

Castiel rolls his eyes at Ketch’s complaints. Complaints about everything, really, but mostly about The Interview. Ketch literally won’t shut up about it. He hasn’t mentioned anything else since Cas came out of his bedroom at half past ten yesterday morning. Ketch’s spare key is meant to be for emergencies only, but whatever; Cas is long since used to Ketch dropping by whenever he feels like it, exclusively for managerial purposes of course. Can’t have your client off doing something you haven’t personally approved and scheduled, after all.

“We need to get out in front of this.” Ketch is typing madly on his phone, thumbs flying. “You’re going to have to do something.”

“I know, Ketch.” Cas sighs wearily. “But another interview immediately after his would be—”

“Yes, tacky, yes,” Ketch interrupts. “Not quite an interview, then. Just a brief chat with the press.”

“A brief chat?”

“Yes, that’s a good idea, Castiel. Let someone catch you outside and ask you about it.”

Cas rubs his temple. “And what, pray tell, is my response to these claims?”

Ketch’s fingers pause. He looks at Cas who is still lying across the plush couch in the living room, one eyebrow raised and unamused.

“That they are ridiculous, obviously. That you are decidedly _not_ a Neanderthal, regardless of what sniveling psychiatrists think of you. And of course you can use that to plug Amazing Grace’s charity event coming up next weekend. Neanderthals don’t dote on orphans, do they?”

“Certainly not.” Cas nods, even though Ketch is already turned away from him, focused on his cell phone again. Sighing, Cas resigns himself to whatever scheme Ketch will brew up for him.

Ketch has been managing Cas’s career for years now. Even before he’d starred in his first major film and was slowly working his way into the acting scene with small roles on TV, Ketch was there for Cas. It’s hard to imagine where he’d be without Ketch’s brains and ability to schmooze anyone, to dig up any and all information he needs, and to get his way. Ketch is a mental powerhouse like Cas is a physical one.

And Ketch had determined—apparently through sheer force of will and probably calling in a few favors—which café was Dr. Winchester’s favorite _and_ arranged for his driver Gadreel to drop Cas off there that very afternoon.

It’s cutesy, with a whimsical name and decór to match. Cas wonders idly what will happen after the press (who Ketch has no doubt alerted about this little outing) find it. He steps inside anyway, shrugging off his denim jacket and pushing his sunglasses to the top of his head. The end of March had brought warmer temperatures to Los Angeles, spring blossoming everywhere you look.

And right in the middle of it all is Dean. He’s seated at a table by the far windows, a steaming mug and a book in front of him. He’s… kind of cute, actually. Cuter than he’d looked on television anyway, which Cas knows to partially be the fault of the unforgiving lights and the clothes and makeup and hairstyle recommended for him. Gone is the tweed jacket, cream button down, and brown slacks. In their place are stylish black shoes, dark jeans, and a light pink button down with the sleeves rolled up. His hair is not that slicked up mess from yesterday, but rather a soft fluff at the top of his head and it’s a darker brown than it had appeared on TV. And there’s some stubble on his jaw, like Dean has been avoiding a razor for the past two days. As he makes his way over, Cas is utterly unashamed to think that this look much better suits the doctor.

“I’m thinking it’s kind of weird to read one’s own book, so this is likely something else. ‘How to Score a Date with a Neanderthal’ perhaps?”

If he’d startled Dean, the other man doesn’t show it. He blinks, taking in the fact that Cas is now standing in front of him at a perfectly average coffee shop just outside of L.A.—and is not just a face on a screen—remaining perfectly calm.

“Oh please,” Dean finally says, looking up at Cas with an unamused expression. “Like it’s hard.”

Cas drapes his jacket over the quaint fake-distressed chair across from Dean. Cute though he might be, Dean Winchester is still a douchebag and Cas needs to remember that. “Harder than writing bullshit about someone you’ve never met. That is, obviously, quite easy.”

“For your information,” Dean starts, closing his book with a snapping sound. “I have not once pretended like I was writing about you with personal experience. I’ve said numerous times that we’ve never met and, frankly, I avoided writing anything about you that wasn’t an actual fact based on what you or your management has said to the public. Family information is easy to get from newspapers, medical and police documents, you name it. Everything was legal. All I did was draw connections between my research and people like you.” Dean takes a sip from his mug. Smug bastard.

“People like me,” Cas repeats. “You don’t know any people like me, sweetheart.”

Dean rolls his eyes, leaning back from the table. The book he was reading is actually a collection of poems by Rupi Kaur. Interesting. “We all know people like you, Castiel. Some things about you are unique. For example, I never knew that your eyes were really so blue in person.”

“Why thank you,” Cas says in a tone he hopes comes across as cool and aloof. Internally, however, he does have a brief moment of panic. Was that a flirtation?

“Other things, not so much.” Dean scoffs, arms crossed, looking bored. “And believe me, nothing that’s been said is going to actually hurt your precious fame.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Cas replies. The one thing he is genuinely worried about in the wake of Dean’s book is his reputation at Amazing Grace, and at Little Angel’s Children’s Home in particular. Ketch is a little more focused on his image to the paparazzi, which is great, but the last thing he wants is for this to affect the kids. When he’d brought that up to Ketch, there was a new gleam in his beady eyes. A swift glance behind Dean and around them reveals that several people are watching, with varying degrees of subtlety. Two young people even have their phones out, no doubt recording the moment. Cas recalls Ketch’s words from this morning.

_“Go after him about that. Winchester’s actions are going to hurt children!”_

_“Ketch don’t you think you’re over exaggerating a bit,” Cas replied._

_“Nonsense. Tell him he’s going to ruin your reputation with the children. And… oh! Bring him to the event on Saturday.” Ketch’s fingers flew over his phone screen._

_Cas frowned. “I should invite someone who hates me to spend a day with me?”_

_“That’s great, Castiel. Do that.” Cas barely repressed the urge to roll his eyes. “Better yet, multiple days. Several days. And nights. Dates! Castiel, get him to go on a date with you.”_

_“What are you talking about Ketch? Date the doctor who thinks I’m a caveman?”_

_Suddenly, Ketch lowered his phone to the side table, his face clearing and becoming brighter in the wake of an epiphany. “Oh, Castiel,” he said. “That’s perfect. That’s brilliant.”_

_“As much as I love you stroking my ego…”_

_“Date the doctor who thinks you’re a caveman. Be the best boyfriend he’s ever had, knock him off his feet. We’ll keep it going for a few weeks, a few months if you can swing it. I’ll alert the press, we’ll make it very public. Get him to fall for you, Castiel.” Cas had felt dread stirring in his gut as Ketch talked. “And once he’s totally yours, you’ll dump him. We’ll make it a big scene, very public. Let everyone know that even the good doctor is not immune to your brutish charms. That he too can be wooed by a Neanderthal.” Ketch had grinned manically at him._

_“What good would any of that do?”_

_“Castiel, darling,” Ketch crooned. “He’s humiliated you. It’s all over the news, him talking about what a jerk you are. How terrible you are, how you treat your loved ones.”_

_“He’s saying what?”_

_“He doesn’t even know you, Castiel. But he’s been on television every day for a week telling people that you abuse your family and friends and act like an arse. We can’t let him get away with that.”_

_All Cas felt now was anger. Ketch must have seen some other interview footage or something. It’s fucking insulting is what it is. Cas would never intentionally hurt the people he loves and this self-centered shrink wants to cash in on nothing but assumptions? How dare he say those things? “You’re right, he doesn’t even know me.”_

_“Precisely.” Ketch sneered. “So pretend like now he can get to know you. Convince him that dating you is the best choice he can make right now. Win him over and keep him close until he’s well and truly smitten by you, dear. And then we’ll break his heart.”_

Cas’s lip curls. “Are you familiar with my charity, Dr. Winchester?”

“Amazing Grace, yes. And the orphanage? Little Angel’s, right?”

“That’s us. There will be an event this weekend. Myself and some other athletes will play games with the kids on the lawn, and then a gala and fundraiser in the evening,” Cas explains. He can’t help but feel a bit conflicted right now, right when he needs to ask Dean to be his date. This guy is a total jerk, but he’s also very attractive, purely in an aesthetically pleasing kind of way, of course. A _hot_ douchebag, but still a douchebag, nonetheless. Now he has to ask this self-righteous brat to spend a whole day with him, and also possibly become his boyfriend. _Ugh._ _Please._ This idea was perfect when Ketch laid it all out, but now Cas is nervous to go through with it. This would be a lot easier if Dean Winchester was ugly.

“That all sounds fan-frigging-tastic,” Dean says, still looking absolutely bored by this conversation. “Just the thing to remind the people how much they like you.”

Well, ugly on the outside. “You should come,” Cas invites, hiding his actual disgust under a wide and charming smile. “Be my date. You could join in the sports in the morning if you wanted, get dolled up for the evening. See firsthand the work I do to actually support these kids, including getting donations for the building and all their projects. Hopefully _they_ don’t think I’m too much of a brute to hang out with them.”

Dean shifts, looking down at the table with a furrowed brow. Cas waits patiently. Ketch had advised him to make sure Dean thinks the decision is his own, to keep the focus on the children, and how Cas’s reputation impacts them. Getting them into a fake-relationship will follow, provided he doesn’t get absolutely sick of this guy and kick him to the curb right away.

“All right, Castiel, I’ll be your date. Saturday?”

“Saturday,” Cas confirms. “Come over in the morning and we’ll arrive together. My people will call your people with the details.” If Dean is so convinced he’s a douchebag, then he’ll act like a proper douchebag. Screw it.

Dean rolls his eyes again, his focus back on his mug and his book. “Goodbye, Castiel.”

“Later.” Cas winks and departs the café with his jacket slung over one shoulder. As expected, the press catch him outside and ask for details of his ‘first confrontation with Dr. Winchester.’

“First of all, it was not a confrontation. Just a conversation! We’ve not had the chance to meet before, so I thought introducing myself was the right move. I want the good doctor to have a chance to see the _real_ me.” Cas smiles with all of his teeth, his mind whirling with all of Ketch’s big ideas. “Secondly, Dr. Winchester has agreed to spend Saturday at Amazing Grace’s event for Little Angel’s.”

“Showing off your sensitive side, huh Nowak?” One reporter grins at him.

“Precisely.”

:     :     :     :     :

The rest of the week passes without much fanfare. Ketch must have assigned one of his interns the task of getting in touch with Dean Winchester, because they’ve let him know when and where to arrive on Saturday. Dean had responded with a question about parking, which Ketch decided was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. Cas thinks back to his old Lincoln Continental who sits in his mother’s garage even now and decides he doesn’t really begrudge Dean for wanting to care for his vehicle.

Cas gets a chance to Skype with his mother about mid-week. The whole conversation is about her friends from their church, updates on his brother and sister, questions about his movies and his friends (he doesn’t have the heart to tell her about his status as a bit of a loner), and Cas reassuring his mother that yes he is eating well and sleeping enough. She’d told him all about Hannah’s promotion at her advertising agency, and Michael’s home renovations. She even complained a bit about him not bringing her grandbabies around enough, and Cas smiled the whole time. Talking to his mom is generally one of the best parts of his month, but he tries to call her every two weeks or so to ensure she doesn’t worry too much. She’d given up so much to bring their family to the United States, the least he can do is videochat with her and keep her updated on his life. He holds an internal debate over whether or not he should let her know about dating someone. In the end, however, he decides that since it won’t last and it’s not for real, he doesn’t need to bother her about it. No one in his family believes anything the news says about him anyway.

Friday drags on without any engagements; Ketch had told him to rest up and be ready for tomorrow. His driver has the day off anyway. Cas heats up some leftovers and marathons some sci-fi show about ghost hunters. He considers texting Dean before remembering what an insufferable asshat he is. Cas also spends a good deal of time watching Dean discuss his caveman book and basically picking apart what little social media presence the guy has. Looks like he’s got a younger brother named Sam, and he wished his uncle a happy father’s day two years ago, so that’s interesting. He digs up pictures of Dean with friends, including a collection of shots from a corporate picnic with his fellow doctors or whatever else people who work at a psychiatric clinic are called. They probably have nurses and secretaries, right? _Maybe,_ Cas thinks, _he should look into what it is that Dean normally does when he’s_ not _slandering innocent people’s names._ It turns out to be a lot of medical jargon, which is difficult enough to read when English really _is_ your first language. And besides, Cas reminds himself firmly, he’s not actually dating this guy.

No matter how sincerely charming he seems on TV or how handsome he is.

:     :     :     :     :

The gala is flawless so far: the swanky hotel that the board at Amazing Grace picked out looks amazing, their guests are milling around and reading poster boards made by and about the children they help and the communities they serve. Cas picks at his tux—a simple black with a cream shirt—as he sips his champagne. He’s connected with the people he’d needed to talk to, and now he’s free to enjoy the party. He wishes idly that he’d been able to take a nap between the morning’s activities and this event, but it’s all for a good cause, so he tries to keep that at the front of his mind.

It had been a really fun morning, actually. Cas had previously met most of the athletes they were playing with, including professional leagues from around the country and some former Olympians like himself. Thankfully Dean didn’t make a fuss about it, which had been a slight worry of his; he doesn’t need to have some random guy making the athletes feel uncomfortable when he needs their continued participation for the kids’ sake. But Dean had taken it all in stride, arriving right on time and dressed for a workout. Cas had been as cordial as possible, offered plenty of water and chances to rest. He introduced some of the younger kids he knew, and the older ones he’d spent more time with over the years. He’d also noted with some frustration that Dean was every bit as attractive as he had remembered, and surely tonight would be more of the same.

He blinks, bringing himself back to the present moment. This moment, however, is now ten times more stressful because Dean is finally joining the party. Cas only allows himself the briefest moment to watch Dean walk across the room before he pretends to be engaged in the conversation going on around him. To say that Dean looks ravishing would be an understatement; his suit fits perfectly, dark blue with a light gray button down, open at the collar. And frankly, Dean’s outfit this morning had been much less expensive and still just as appealing. Obviously Dean had been an athlete, or at least keeps himself in decent shape. There had been different activities offered like tee-ball and flag-football for the younger crowd, along with soccer and basketball and something called Zumba, which was new to Cas, but Dean had taken to it like a champ. And everyone who interacted with him had nothing but nice things to say about Dean.

Ketch has already texted Cas to inform him that this is, in fact, infuriating. People are supposed to be appreciating _him_ but instead they’re flocking to Dean. Unsure of what exactly Ketch expects him to do about Dean being a genuinely likable person, Cas has stuck to doing what he knows best: helping Littlest Angels. He’d played with the kids and shook the right hands and taken the right pictures. Cas still got hugs and well wishes from all of his old friends, including Claire and Alfie. Claire is one of the kids who’s been with their organization the longest, and the other kids really benefit from her leadership, no matter how much she acts like she doesn’t want to be a part of it. Alfie is thirty like Cas and, had Cas grown up in the area, they might have been childhood friends. Currently Alfie is the liaison between his charity foundation and the children’s home. He’s changed from his polo and crisp shorts this morning into a nice suit for the evening and is chattering about their latest efforts and what will need to be finished up in the next couple of days for this event.

Distracted by that—that _douchebag,_ Cas turns toward Alfie, pretending like his attention hasn’t wavered at all from their conversation, definitely not holding his breath until—

“Hey, Castiel.” Even though he knew it was coming, Cas still startles. He’s got to get a fucking grip around this guy or he’ll be in serious trouble with Ketch.

“Hello, Dean,” he replies. “Did I introduce you to Alfie Johnston?”

“Maybe in passing this morning. It was a bit of a whirlwind. It’s nice to meet you again,” Dean says, extending a hand to Alfie.

“The pleasure is ours, certainly, to have you with us today.” Alfie beams. “You were great with the kids this morning.”

Dean shrugs. “It was a lot of fun. I’ve got a younger brother, so I remember those days. Plus my cousin and her wife have two tykes of their own.”

“That does explain it,” Alfie says. “And what do you do for work?”

Dean blinks and glances at Cas so quickly he almost misses it. “I’m a psychiatrist and an author.”

“Wow, that is very impressive. Cas, I had no idea you were seeing someone so intelligent.” Cas smacks Alfie on the shoulder, who merely laughs at him. “Always so aggressive,” he teases. “I see some other familiar faces I need to go and greet. It was so good to see you, my friend, and a pleasure to meet you, Dean.”

“Likewise.” Dean smiles at him and Cas waves before tilting his head back to finish this glass of champagne. Where’s the wine? “I liked him.”

“Of course you did, called you intelligent, didn’t he?”

“I admit I was surprised that he didn’t make a comment about the book. You’re telling people we’re dating but not about how we met, darling?”

Cas fights the urge to roll his eyes at Dean’s tone. After all, this is exactly what Ketch wants: get Dean to date him, by any means necessary. Win him over. Once Dean has been properly seduced he will be dumped and humiliated and his reputation as tarnished as Cas’s. They can’t let this opportunity pass. Cas needs to follow through, starting now.

“I haven’t said anything of the kind, honey,” Cas responds in a clipped tone. He still thinks this would be easier if Dean was ugly. “Plus there’s the fact that you wouldn’t last a week. I’m a great partner but you… you couldn’t handle it all.” He gestures around the party, the glasses in their hands, the chandeliers, and the glittering mansion.

Dean’s eyebrows pinch together. “Is that a challenge?”

Cas smirks. “A month, then.”

“Six months. And then I’ll publish your biography.”

There’s no hesitation when Cas nods.


	2. It's Fake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no fucking idea what perks former olympic medalists get okay also I’ve been to precisely one (1) professional basketball game so let’s just ~*~pretend~*~
> 
> you can find the polish translations at the end!

The most annoying thing about Castiel Nowak turns out not to be how big and muscly and aggressive he is. No, it’s how damned _flashy_ the guy is with his money. Castiel spends money like it’s going to turn into pocket lint if it sits for too long.

It’s been a week and a half since Dean refused to back down from a challenge and started _dating_ Castiel. Sort of. It’s not like any dating experience he’s ever had before; getting picked up in increasingly fancy cars, being taken to “the best restaurants in L.A.” where he’s served precisely one thin slice of ham with one tiny ball of cheese and Castiel foots a $500 bill for it, shopping for expensive clothing and jewelry not because he needs it but because Castiel apparently can’t tell a store clerk _no_ and, again, he really likes to spend his money.

Dean gets it; he supposes if he was fabulously wealthy he might be quick to spend it too, but he’s not. His family never had much more than what they needed to survive, and then Dean went and picked a career that required medical school and, well, debt is a thing. He’s still putting in the hours at the clinic, thankfully it seems that his colleagues haven’t caught onto his nightly activities. Or maybe they’re just too polite to say anything. And the dates aren’t awful: a drive and then hike up to the Hollywood sign, a show at the Los Angeles Theater, a few hours on a beach halfway between L.A. and Malibu where Dean got to eat the best frozen yogurt he’s ever tasted. Dean would almost say it’s been enjoyable. Especially since he’s been avoiding reading any press about Castiel, just in case. He’s sure they were photographed at every outing, but Castiel hasn’t really said much. Maybe his manager takes care of that stuff? Dean’s not sure.

It’s Thursday when Castiel calls Dean early in the day to check if he’s free to go out tonight. Dean hums and pretends like he needs to think deeply about it until Castiel mutters in annoyance under his breath. Was that even English?

“Anything for you, honeybear. What time should I expect you?”

“I’ll swing by at six. Where we’re going isn’t a black tie gig, but you know how I love you in a jacket.” Dean can hear Cas’s smirk over the phone.

“Ha ha, I’ll have to keep that in mind. See you then.”

“Na razie.”

Dean shakes his head before returning to his morning paper. He rubs at his eyes under his glasses and makes a note to pick up some more eye drops on his next grocery run. His day passes in relative calm, avoiding the news in favor of reruns, and Skyping with his little brother Sam after lunch.

“He seems like a great guy,” Sam is saying, elbow deep in the sink in his little studio apartment. “I know you love the shopping. And the beach? When’s the last time you got to put your toes in the sand?”

“It has been a while, I guess,” Dean concedes. He smiles fondly at Sam, realizing it was probably back when Sam was in high school and they took a road trip out here.

“You thinking about our road trip?” Sam grins; he’s always been so sharp. “We should do that again, yeah?”

“That would be great, Sammy.” Sam scrunches his nose at the nickname but Dean ignores him. “Would that boss of yours let you take a week off to visit your brother?”

“Should be fine. Gabriel’s been talking about expanding, you know. The guy’s sweet tooth is enormous, Dean. He won’t stop until he’s tried every dessert.”

Dean laughs. “Sounds like a fun time. Your commute is still good?”

“Not bad at all. Plus it’s better to live here; it’s more affordable than the city.” Dean nods, remembering their apartment hunting when Sam was finally free to get his own place. “I drive to work, come back here, go to my gym and my library. A bar, sometimes.”

Dean tenses up and tries not to show it. Sam deserves to keep living his life. The kid’s just turned twenty-three for fuck’s sake.

“I know how it might sound,” Sam says quietly, his body still. “But I’m taking care of myself. Only one drink. Watch the bartender, watch the other people at the counter.” Dean nods, encouraging. “Then I watch people dance, or I join in. I like when there’s live music.” He sighs deeply. “I can’t stay in here forever. I gotta go out when I want to. And just. Take care.”

“Course you do, Sammy. You’re a smart guy. You know what it took to get here and you’re handling it. Doesn’t mean you’re done living your life.”

Sam nods this time, smiling faintly. Dean will do anything to keep him baby brother smiling like that.

He glances at the clock and sighs. “I should get going. It was good talking to you.”

“Always,” Sam agrees, carrying his laptop in freshly-dried hands over to his couch. “You gonna tell me his name yet?”

“Nah.” No way in hell. It’s a good thing for everyone that Sam avoids the Internet at all costs.

“Well at least write it on the wedding invitations!”

“Shut up, bitch.”

“Jerk.”

 

Castiel arrives at precisely six o’clock, dressed in dark jeans, a pale green button down, and a black sports coat. Dean wonders briefly if he should’ve worn jeans too, but he remembers the way Castiel couldn’t take his eyes off Dean’s ass when he’d tried these on in the store, and reminds himself it’s not a bad thing to enjoy attention.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel greets him, surprising him by reaching for one of his hands. “Shall we?”

“Sure thing,” Dean stutters, only just remembering to lock the door. Castiel leads him to the car and opens his door. He does like to open doors for Dean, but the hand-holding is new. Dean isn’t quite sure what to make of it other than, well, he kind of likes it.

“Tonight a friend of mine from early in my career is having a gallery showing. We did this indie film together and since then she’s moved on to art, mixed media and small sculptures mostly. There will be light refreshments, but I was thinking we’d go out after, just see what’s nearby if we’re still hungry?” Castiel, who talks with his hands even when he’s supposed to be driving, looks to Dean for agreement.

“That sounds good, Nowak. Didn’t know you had friends though, that’s so nice.” Dean really needs to be snarky right now and avoid any of this fluttering nonsense in his stomach. Luckily Castiel seems to take snark as the norm.

“You’d be surprised. Yes even women want to be friends with Neanderthals like me, sometimes. Does that make her a Neanderthal too, I wonder? Does she qualify?” Dean opens his mouth to reply, but Castiel’s phone starts to ring. Castiel mutters something that’s probably a curse word before shooting Dean an apologetic look. “Ketch,” he says. “What is it?” With the Bluetooth in his ear, Dean can’t make out what’s being said. He stews for a bit in Cas’s comment; of _course_ women can be Neanderthals. That was the whole… But then again, it’s not like Castiel actually _read_ his book. He exhales through his nose. It’s not his job to educate the ignorant.

The car rolls to a stop next to a relatively quiet sidewalk. You can still hear the hustle and bustle of West Hollywood, but this street is calm.

Castiel curses (probably, maybe Dean should invest in a ‘Polish for beginners’ book?) and insists to this Ketch guy that he really needs to go and he hangs up, tossing the earpiece into the car carelessly and slamming the door. Dean stares at him for a second.

“Sorry,” Castiel mutters, one hand rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

“It’s cool,” Dean says. “Work stress?”

“Yeah. Manager wants to manage every second of my day.”

Dean nods like he’s got any kind of experience with being _managed_ and sticks his hands into his pockets, looking up at the building next to them. “So, this it?”

Castiel answers in the affirmative while he feeds quarters into the meter. He pulls his cell phone from his jacket pocket and looks at it and then Dean. “We’re a little early yet, but Anna will let us in.” With that, he rounds the building and knocks on an unmarked door. Before Dean can raise any questions, the door swings open and a woman with bright red hair sticks her head out into the night.

“Castiel!” She cries, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and kissing both cheeks. “It’s so good to see you. And your friend?”

“This is Dean Winchester,” Castiel introduces him politely. Dean steps forward with a smile, a little unsure if he is also going to get an armful of happy artist. The way she’s scrutinizing him is a little disconcerting, but when she smiles again Dean thinks he might have passed her test.

“Lovely to meet you. I’m Anna Milton. Do come in!”

The next three hours pass in a whirlwind of drinks and paintings and finger sandwiches and sculptures. Anna had taken him and Castiel all around the gallery before the doors opened, sometimes feeding them a little tidbit about one piece or another. Castiel had absolutely fawned over a sculpture of an angel, body twisted and hands raised into the air, wings draped across their body, feathers dazzling. As soon as the doors were open to the public, Castiel had grabbed the owner and paid for the angel, and a tip on top of that. Dean feels annoyance at yet another instance of Castiel throwing money at everything he wants, but this time he can’t help but think maybe it’s justified since Anna was Castiel’s friend first. It’s kind of sweet, actually. He and Castiel are photographed by the event’s media and Dean doesn’t feel quite so uncomfortable this time, though he’d ducked out after a few minutes, not wanting to make any comments that would later wind up online.

After that, settled on the plush couches in a corner of the gallery, Dean had asked Castiel about the film he and Anna had worked on. He’d never seen it, but Castiel described it as a little sci-fi and a little historical drama, which sounded right up Dean’s alley. They started talking about other sci-fi they enjoyed, from _Firefly_ to _Westworld._ Then it was a discussion about a world without consequences, without laws; Castiel seemed to genuinely listen to Dean’s points about evolutionary and social psychology, and his input is just as smart, his comments just as well-spoken. They were interrupted only one time, when Castiel’s phone buzzed, reminding him to go out and feed the parking meter. What’s more is Castiel actually ran out and did it, something Dean knows ‘regular’ people don’t even bother to do all the time. It makes Dean feel warm inside to have such a stimulating conversation with a guy as good-looking and—

Wait a fucking minute. He’s _fake_ dating a celebrity with an over-inflated ego and a damned caveman-worship-complex… thing. This is not a date where he wants to be wooed by intelligent conversation and witty banter and… Oh God, have they been flirting?

Luckily it seems that Dean is coming to this realization just as the event is winding down. Anna’s made her way over to them (at which point Dean realizes they’ve been sitting together on what could be graciously referred to as a small couch for the better part of ninety minutes) and kisses Castiel on both of his cheeks again. Castiel smiles fondly at her and praises the show and her work. Anna beams at him before drawing Dean upright and into a tight embrace, including kisses. Dean’s a bit flustered but he thanks her for the invite, repeating Castiel’s praise.

“Nonsense.” She waves them to the doors. “It was so good to have you both. Castiel darling I am expecting a phone call from you no later than Wednesday, do you hear me?”

“Yes, yes.” Castiel smiles at her and Dean has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from reciprocating. They climb back into Castiel’s car— _he drives a never-ending parade of shiny foreign sports cars, goddamnit Winchester get a grip_ —and Castiel smoothly turns them around. They’re sitting quietly for a few minutes before something catches Dean’s eye out of the window.

“Wait, stop.” He peers at the lights of a small strip of businesses; a nail salon, an ice cream parlor, a bowling alley, and a diner. The advertising promises the best burgers in Northeastern L.A., and Dean is hooked. “Let’s go there.”

Castiel looks a bit skeptical and then thoughtful before muttering, “I do love burgers.” He maneuvers them into the lot and into a parking space, and in the meantime Dean is trying not to regret ever opening his mouth. Granted, he’s so fucking glad they ended up some place with food he’s sure to enjoy, not a trendy, ‘deconstructed’ spot. Downsides: they’re still dressed pretty nicely (not black-tie, but more fancy than Dean is on a regular basis) and he’s just invited _Castiel Nowak_ into some mom and pop diner. A million things could go wrong here.

And then… nothing happens. Well, a few things happen but they’re good things. Castiel discards his tie before climbing out of the car. He smiles kindly at their hostess—who does a double take when she sees him properly—and requests a table for two a little removed from the other patrons, says he doesn’t want to disrupt anyone’s meal. She stammers before bustling them away to one corner of the diner, still not very far from the other half dozen patrons, though no one seems to take special notice. Their waiter is a thin man with a nametag reading ‘Hello! I’m Garth!’ He seems to squint at Dean, as though trying to figure out which blockbuster he’s starred in recently. Castiel orders a double bacon cheeseburger and asks for a side of _coleslaw_ of all the things. Castiel shares with him that there’s nothing like his mother’s recipe for fries, and claims nothing in America can measure up, but he’ll take what he can get. Dean laughs and asks about other Polish foods, and they’re off again. Talking. Really talking, like Dean never would have expected them to. Their first couple of dates had been fine, but formal. Stiff. This feels more like… well, it feels more like a date. Later, Castiel is extremely gracious to both Dean and to the people who want to take a photo with him, including Garth and their hostess Bess, and a young family a few booths over. And Dean doesn’t actually mind wielding the camera phones. It’s kind of sweet, especially because Castiel takes time to talk with each of them for a moment and wish them well. Dean and Castiel leave with full stomachs and smiles on their faces.

Maybe dating Castiel for six months isn’t going to be _completely_ awful.

:     :     :     :     :

The funniest thing about Castiel Nowak is that he doesn’t speak English all the time. Which actually sounds kind of horrible when you think about it like that, but it goes one of two ways: Castiel knows he’s talking way over Dean’s head and he abuses it, or Castiel is swept up in emotion, tiredness, or hunger and just forgets about English.

They’ve been doing this for nearly two months now, and Dean really should have invested in a Polish-English dictionary by now. Simple things like ‘goodbye’ have been established, but sometimes Castiel will makes notes on his phone or speak with someone in rushed, harsh tones that leave Dean completely in the dark. And then Castiel will smirk and wink at him, before whisking him off to the ski rentals or the the ticket office. Good thing that it’s definitely not at all attractive or this would be a problem. (It’s definitely a problem.)

Even though Castiel has been off the Olympic circuit for years, apparently there are all kinds of perks to having been a member of Team USA. For example, a fancy party plus floor seats to the semi-finals of the NBA playoffs. Dean’s knowledge of basketball ends with ‘March Madness’ so it was pretty much a free food kind of a date.

They’re sitting courtside, watching one team in white uniforms and the other in orange run back and forth. Dean’s cheering for the white team because orange? Seriously? He pushes his glasses back up his nose and leans forward in his seat to watch until he notices Castiel watching him out of the corner of his eye.

“What’s up man? You’ve been looking at me funny all night.”

“No, dupek. Pay attention to the game.” Then Castiel mutters something that sounds like ‘preston me rosh-project’ and Dean gives up. He knows the glasses look pretty dorky, that’s why he wears contacts all the time. But today they’d been irritating his eyes and he’d needed the break. Castiel could just deal with being seen with a dork.

At halftime, he turns to look at Castiel, only to find him once more staring back. Dean rolls his eyes. _“Anyway._ Should we go get a beer? Do you need to talk to anyone?”

Castiel blinks. “Uh. Yes, yes, actually I should say hello to a few people.”

Dean stands and puts his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “All right sleepyhead. Should I get you something?”

“No no, just come upstairs with me.”

Dean sighs and extends a hand to Castiel, helping him to his feet. He doesn’t seem tired so much as absent-minded, distracted. “You sure nothing’s wrong?”

“Nie.” Castiel waves his other hand and immediately turns to go up the stairs. If Dean doesn’t particularly want to let go of their tight grasp, well the world doesn’t need to know that. Except for those fucking cameras he can _hear_ from several feet away. Fuck, should he have dropped Castiel’s hand?

He’s so focused on whether or not they’re technically holding hands that he forgets about walking properly, and stumbles hard. He would’ve gone down into the unforgiving plastic seats and the concrete stairs except Castiel is right there, one strong arm around his waist for support.

“Are you okay?” Their faces are so close together Dean can feel Castiel’s warm exhale and smell his somewhat minty breath on his chin and cheek. He murmurs in the affirmative, worried about bumping their noses together if he nods. Castiel straightens up and fiddles with Dean’s button down where it was scrunched up in his fist. “Good. Tak. Okay.”

They make it up to the suite with no further incident. An older man with dark brown skin turns and, upon seeing Castiel, smiles with one corner of his mouth and raises his arms with a shout. Castiel replies in kind, and they embrace and begin chattering in rapid Polish. Dean has not seen this side of Castiel, plus Dean doesn’t know a single other Polish-speaking person. He smiles awkwardly at the curious looks from the other people in the room and moves toward the snack table. He snags a small bottled water and fills a tiny plate with pretzels before he hears his name.

“To jest Dean Winchester, towarzyszy mi dzisiaj. Dean, this is my old coach, if you can believe it. Rufus Turner.”

“Think you’re so funny, don’t you. I’m old but I ain’t too old to whoop you. It’s good to meet you, Dean.” Rufus doesn’t seem to mind that Dean has to fumble his bottle onto the nearest countertop before shaking his hand. “Anyone who can keep up with Castiel here is a mystery and a saint.”

“Every day is a new obstacle,” Dean quips, his face solemn. Castiel pouts at him.

They spend some more time milling around with Rufus, while Dean pretends to know anything about any of these people. It’s not bad though, with the warmth of Castiel’s hand on his lower back. Also they have the good stuff up here, so Dean indulges in a rum and coke before they head back to their seats.

The orange team pulls off the win, and Dean pretends to ignore the cameras following their every move while he and Castiel collect their jackets and exit the arena. Then the tunnel suddenly bottlenecks and Dean finds himself alone in a horde of people. His heart speeds up, a bit of panic blooming in his belly. It’s fine though, when he gets to the other side he’ll find Castiel. But when it opens up and people are still filing out the doors, Castiel is nowhere to be seen. Dean moves to one side and freezes, heart still pounding away. Then a bright flash goes off right in front of his face, and there’s one of those photographer guys right in front of him.

“Dean! Hey, Dean! Where’s Castiel at? Why are you two here together? What’s going on?” At this point it feels like there’s a hundred photographers all around him, and Dean is embarrassed to feel heat in his cheeks and behind his eyes.

“Dean? What the fuck? Dean!” Castiel’s voice cuts through the blood rushing in his ears.

“Cas…” Dean takes a deep breath and focuses his eyes on the man in front of him.

“Kurwa, Dean. I’m here, okay?” Castiel cups Dean’s jaw in his hands and peers at him intently. “You’re here with me. Everything’s fine.” Dean closes his eyes and nods, feeling his pulse slow to a more regular pace. Satisfied, Castiel takes his hand and turns, pulling Dean to the exit, muttering ‘zejdź mi z drogi’ at the lingering paparazzi.

At home that night, Dean resists every urge to get online, and prays that Sam and the rest of his family doesn’t develop a sudden interest in professional basketball.

 

Their next public date is attending a red carpet premiere in New York. When Dean had argued that with enough advance they could simply drive, Ketch had nearly combusted. He’s taken care to avoid Castiel’s finicky manager whenever possible. The guy’s a creep.

And so Dean Winchester will be (somewhat) voluntarily boarding a plane tomorrow and hopefully not falling out of the sky to his death. Castiel assures him that this is an overly dramatic reaction to a very short flight, but Dean is unconvinced. To try and help calm his nerves, Castiel invites him over to his apartment the day before and insists he spend the night. Dean does agree eventually, but he puts up a good fight about it, just in case.

These past few days, Dean has really been struggling to keep his feelings for Castiel firmly in the platonic part of his heart. Accepting that Castiel really isn’t as much of an asshole as he had seemed was hard enough. Dean has embraced the idea that they are actually _friends_ and good ones, too. Castiel cares about other people, he’s generous with his money and time, and they have just enough things in common to bond over them, while learning from each other about other things. But they agreed to fake-date for six months, and Dean is losing sight of that only one-third of the way in to their deal. His heart picks up when Castiel smiles at him, his stomach swoops when Castiel reaches for his hand, and Dean finds himself _missing Castiel_ on the days when they can’t meet up, texting him and sending him funny pictures on Snapchat.

When the driver Ketch sent comes to collect Dean and his duffel bag from his apartment, he spends the whole ride reminding himself again and again that this is a business deal and even though they are no longer at odds, he and Castiel are still not on the same page. If Dean can’t last the whole six months, he doesn’t get to say anything about their time together, he signed a damn contract and everything. Castiel probably doesn’t even think of them as friends.

Castiel steps outside when they pull up, and he asks the driver kindly to pick up a couple of pizzas for them before handing over some cash and escorting Dean inside.

“I hate asking Gadreel to do things for me.” Castiel sighs. “I mean, I know that he’s being paid for his work, but I hate the idea of ordering someone around all the time.”

“It didn’t sound like you were being a jackass, man. Don’t worry,” Dean reassures him.

Castiel gives him a small smile and lifts his hand towards Dean’s face, using his index finger to push Dean’s glasses back up his nose. “I see you wore your glasses again.”

Dean grunts and swipes at his hand. “Hey! We’re just hanging out right? No need to get all dolled up.”

“I do so appreciate when you’re looking dapper, though.” Castiel smirks.

“Whatever, Cas.” Castiel raises an eyebrow at him. “What? It’s less of a mouthful than _Castiel.”_

“I am going to refrain from making any sexual jokes right now.”

“How noble of you.” Dean rolls his eyes.

Cas winks. “Come on then, I’ll give you a tour.” Castiel’s apartment is unlike any apartment that Dean’s ever lived in. Then again, that’s probably why they call them ‘penthouses’. They take the elevator from the lobby up to the top floor, which features only a set of large wooden doors and a doorbell. Dean raises an eyebrow and Cas shifts awkwardly. “It’s a bit more… ostentatious than I would have picked for myself. But, well, you’ve met Ketch.” Dean nods, laughing, as Cas pulls open the door for him.

The front room features a small couch with end tables. Beyond that, Dean can see a much larger living room with more seating, a TV and entertainment system, and a fireplace. A fireplace in Los Angeles? Does Ketch think Cas is going to get cold or something? To the right is a screen door out to a balcony, but Cas brings him left to see the kitchen. It’s bright and airy, and much too clean to be well used. There’s _another_ screen door out to _another_ balcony, this one featuring a firepit. Whatever. Cas points out a bathroom nearby and his workout room next to that. He’s got a treadmill, some weights, and a big punching bag attached to the ceiling. He follows Cas down a hallway to the bedrooms. One has been converted into a functional office space: a hulking printer and copy machine, stationery supplies on a desk, files and folders neatly organized, and posters from the movies Cas has been in pinned to the walls. The door directly across the hall is a laundry room. The next door down from that is a nice guest room with a bathroom, sparsely decorated but clean and friendly.

“You can sleep here tonight.” Cas gestures around. “I’m just at the end of hall.” He indicates over his shoulder.

“Do you have a jacuzzi tub in there? I feel like all this place is missing is a huge hot tub made out of gold, or something.” Cas punches his shoulder with an exasperated air. They seem to have had pretty good timing, because by the time they reach the kitchen Gadreel has returned with the pizzas. He excuses himself from their meal, leaving Dean and Cas to demolish a large sausage and pepperoni and a large cheese pizza.

“I wasn’t sure what kind of pizzas you liked, so I thought this was safest,” Cas says.

“Any pizza is good pizza.”

“A man after my own heart.” Cas sighs exaggeratedly, biting into a piece with tons of toppings. Dean takes a bite of his own and hopes like Hell that Cas won’t see the blush staining his cheeks. They settle in to watch a movie, _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ winning after a heated debate.

“You just want to see Chris Evans’s ass in tights,” Cas teases him. Dean, unable to deny the accusation, flicks a bit of cheese at him. He then realizes Cas has probably rubbed elbows with all of these guys and wonders if any of them will be at the premiere tomorrow.

“Cas, what’s the premiere we’re going to?”

“I told you, Dean, it’s _Wonder Woman.”_

“Right, right. Cool.” No big deal. Cas nudges him with a look that says ‘stop being a weirdo’ before stuffing another piece of pizza into his mouth. They don’t stay up super late, especially after Ketch calls Cas in order to tell him to go the fuck to bed. Cas had flushed red with embarrassment and Dean fought the urge to do something incredibly stupid like _kiss_ him.

He lies awake for a while after that, desperately running through his mental checklist of all of Cas’s worst qualities. Surely he’s got some horrible ones, right?

:     :     :     :     :

Turns out the worst thing about Castiel Nowak is that he’s making Dean fall in love with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the Polish  
> na razie: see you later  
> dupek: fucker  
> what dean thought was "preston me rosh-project" (which, I mean, sure) was actually przestań mnie rozpraszać meaning stop distracting me  
> nie means no, tak means yes  
> to jest DW, towarzyszy mi dzisiaj: this is DW, he's accompanying me tonight  
> kurwa: fuck  
> zejdź mi z drogi: get out of my way


	3. The Bond

Mornings are without a doubt God’s worst creation. When Cas gets upstairs he’s going to have a few questions regarding this particular form of torture. While he doesn’t have to get up for trainings and workouts anymore, thank fuck, it never gets any easier to leave the comfort of his bed. But 7:00 AM is the absolute latest he could swing it with their flight this morning, so his alarm screams at him to get up. Cas blearily rubs at his eyes before grabbing pajama pants from the floor and shuffling to the stairs. Now, Gadreel is a nice enough guy, but he’s not one to hang out in Cas’s kitchen. So why does it smell like coffee?

When he reaches the doorway, Cas is greeted by the sight of Dean Winchester in sweatpants and a soft-looking t-shirt, reading a newspaper and drinking coffee out of Cas’s favorite mug. Dean is sitting at the small table, glasses perched on his nose, and hair still mussed. Is this what heaven looks like?

Cas literally shakes his head back and forth as soon as he thinks that. No, he is absolutely _not_ allowed to look at Dean and think of joy and _home_ and endless mornings just like this one. That is not how this works. It doesn’t matter that they’ve gotten closer over the past eleven weeks and the fake-dating isn’t such a chore any longer; it doesn’t matter how Cas feels every time Dean smiles at him.

“Dzień dobry,” he mutters, making a beeline for the coffee machine.

“Uh, I’ll assume that’s a good morning.”

He doesn’t bother stifling the urge to roll his eyes. Mornings are never _good,_ really, plus there’s no need for Dean to tease him at this hour. Once he’s had a sip of his tasty coffee, he exhales, leaning back against the counter with his eyes closed. All is quiet for a brief moment, but Cas feels the prickly sensation of being watched. Later he will deny it, but in the moment all Cas wants is to revel in the feeling of Dean’s eyes on him.

“What’s so fascinating?” he says quietly, raising his mug to his lips.

Dean clears his throat hurriedly. “Uh. Nothing. Just.” Cas opens his eyes to peer at Dean, who has turned back to face the newspaper in front of him, neck and ears a nice pink. “Is this why we never go out in the morning? Because you’re a world class grump before noon?”

“Absolutnie.”

“You don’t ever get up early to get stuff done? Or just enjoy the peace and quiet? The beauty of the rising sun?” Cas glares at the side of Dean’s head until Dean looks up and cracks a smile. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“Nothing good about mornings,” Cas mutters, sliding into the other chair at the table.

A moment of quiet passes between them before Dean says, “it’s not too late to just drive to New York, right?”

“It’s a bit late for that, wariacie. Will you be ready soon?”

“Um, yeah. Is Gadreel driving us?”

“Tak. Wkrótce.” Cas notices Dean is looking at him and rolls his eyes again. “Yes. Soon.”

“Need a damn dictionary, I swear.” Dean shakes his head. “Is this a lack of caffeine thing?” Cas nods, partly because he’s unwilling to properly translate a response and also because that response may include the words ‘goat fucker’ and that just doesn’t need to happen right now.

After his third cup, Castiel is feeling much more alive. It’s still a bit early but Ketch wanted him in New York early.

 _Plenty of time for the photos of you and Dean traveling together to circulate,_ he’d said. _Plenty of time for speculations about the premiere and about your relationship,_ he’d said.

Cas is just grateful, and not for the first time, that he doesn’t have to manage his social media accounts on his own.

They arrive at the airport without much fanfare, just a lot of Dean fidgeting in his seat. And in line to get through security. And on the way to actually board the plane. Cas was pretty well ignoring it before but this can’t continue. Why is Dean so nervous? He’d made it pretty clear before that he prefers driving, but surely it’s not that big of a deal? Has he perhaps never flown before? Are his nerves related to the event this evening?

“Dean.” Cas leans towards him over the armrests of their seats. “Are you all right?”

“Peachy.” Dean huffs out a slightly hysterical breath.

Cas bites his lip. Something has been on his mind ever since the incident after the basketball game, but to ask would make it sound like he genuinely cares about Dean. It’s been getting harder and harder to keep the line between them clear and firm. Dean humiliated him and now they’re in this business deal where Cas will get revenge. He shouldn’t care about Dean or his feelings… but he does more and more every day.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he finally spits out. “About the basketball game, and those paparazzi hounds coming after you. Is it—I mean, are you nervous about us going out so publicly again so soon?” Dean stares at him, mouth parted and confused. “Is that why you’re so keyed up? Because of how terrible that was? And like, I can’t really say it’ll be better tonight because of course there’s paparazzi. Hopefully they’ll stay a little more focused on me though.”

“Cas—”

“I just feel bad about this. I had wondered if you were feeling stressed or cokolwiek, but I promised to go to this premiere ages ago, so—”

 _“Cas._ Stop. Really, it’s f—well, it’s not _fine_ it’s just… not that.”

“What are you talking about?”

Dean sighs deeply. His hands are trembling where they’re resting in his lap, fingers twisted together. “I’m afraid of flying. I hate planes. I hate flying. I hate it. I can’t do this.” In the silence after Dean’s confession, Cas hears the voiceover for the safety reminders start up.

“I thought you just… just preferred to drive or something. I know you’re in love with your car, but—”

“I mean it’s—it’s unavoidable. I figured it would happen at some point in our relationship and I just needed to—to suck it up.” Dean closes his eyes and gulps, trying to smile. “It’s fine. Got a seat belt. I’m buckled into the metal tube about to be thrown through the air and across the country.”

The plane begins to move, rolling across the tarmac. Dean’s arm fly out to the armrests and his knuckles go white from how hard he’s gripping. Eyes still closed, Dean is taking deep breaths but they’re getting faster and faster; Cas is worried that he’ll make himself sick at this rate. Why should he be worried? Why should he care?

 _You know why you care,_ his mind whispers traitorously. _Dean called this a relationship and your heart did a damn back flip._

Without another thought in his mind, Cas takes one of Dean’s hands in his. “It’s okay. Really. You’re very safe.”

But Dean just looks at him, head turned, eyes wide. “Uh…”

“So are you not that nervous about the premiere? About going out like that again? Is it just the flight?”

“Um. Mostly the flight.” Dean nods. “Yeah. I mean I’m not thrilled about the publicity, but it’s—it’s kind of becoming the norm.” He shrugs and lets out a shaky laugh. “Never thought I’d say that.”

“Indeed.” Cas grins. The cabin tilts as the plane takes off, wheels leaving the Earth behind. Dean holds his breath and squeezes Cas’s hand. “Have I ever told you about the first time that I was on a plane?” Dean shakes his head, still squeezing his eyes shut and sitting very still and tense. “Well I was pretty young. That’s when I met my coach, Rufus Turner, you remember him?” Dean makes an affirmative sound, his breathing slowing down. “Right, so I was with my mother and my sister and brother because she couldn’t leave them behind. And…”

They spend the whole plane ride just like that. Slowly Dean had opened his eyes and relaxed his posture in his seat, but they never let go of their clasped hands. Cas tells another lengthy story—this time about his very first day on a set—to keep Dean distracted through the landing. Why he feels the need to tell slightly embarrassing stories rather than just regular ones is beyond him. Really.

:     :     :     :     :

A car and driver waited for them, promising transportation around the Big Apple. Dean’s color starts returning to normal once they’re settled, mumbling about the blessing of roadways and motor vehicles. Cas just pats Dean’s thigh, not even rolling his eyes at what a drama queen he can be. On their way to the hotel, Dean gets more and more sleepy, not even paying attention to the sights all around them. He nods off on Cas’s shoulder just a few blocks from their hotel, but Cas can’t find it in himself to wake Dean before they pull up. He really is getting soft.

He does prod Dean into walking into the lobby with him, though, after thanking their driver for the ride and promising to be back in two hours. The clerk behind the desk is very polite—and probably used to famous guests—sliding the two key cards across the counter and bidding them a good night. Cas didn’t think twice about it until they had exited the elevator and he was putting the card in the slot and opening the door to find… one king sized bed.

Cas has not made his own hotel reservations once in his entire life. First Rufus and then Ketch were entrusted with that responsibility (and any accompanying headache). It didn’t even occur to him to think about what the sleeping arrangements would be. What the hell was Dean going to say when he realized—?

Before Cas could even complete his train of thought, Dean had crossed the room, dropped his duffel at the foot of the bed, and flopped face-first onto it, feet dangling off the edge. He groans in a way that Cas would vehemently deny had any sort of effect on his stomach and kicks his sneakers off somewhat carelessly. His jeans probably aren’t the most comfortable to sleep in but it looks like Dean doesn’t care. He’d thrown his cap onto the floor as well, and his t-shirt has gotten a little rucked up, showing just the slimmest view of his soft midsection and—

 _Fucking hell, Cas, you stop that right now._ Cas curses his brain for a few minutes before pulling himself together.

“Dean, I’ll—I’m sorry about the bed. I’ll be over here on the couch, okay?”

“Wha’ever, Cas. Don’ bite.” Dean’s voice is muffled by the pillow he’s captured. “Imma nap ‘fore we gotta ge’ready.”

“Okay, Dean. Sleep well.” There’s a soft grunting noise from Dean’s prone form before his quiet breathing takes over. His adrenaline must have been running so high before and during the flight that it just exhausted him. Cas can’t believe how absolutely _cute_ Dean looks right now. He keeps his distance (because, hello, this is fucking creepy) but he can see the way Dean’s brow has unpinched, settling his face into smooth lines, completely peaceful.

The entire thirty minutes that follow consists of Cas waffling over what precisely he should be doing at any given moment. He could get on his phone and like or retweet, or share some stuff with his followers on social media. He could get out his laptop and read through a script that Ketch has sent over to him, see if he’s interested in the project. He could even take a nap himself—no wait that would involve getting into bed with Dean. Oh, how he wants to get into bed with Dean. Would Dean want to be the little spoon? He would love to wrap his arms around Dean and press a kiss to his nape and—

Cas stands abruptly, trying to shake off the urge. Where is this even coming from? His hand has been keeping his libido satisfied and he doesn’t even think about getting affectionate with Dean, ever. Never ever. Well… occasionally. Cas paces—quietly, though, so he doesn’t wake Dean. Why is this happening to him? Why now? They’re only two and half months into this arrangement. Really, it’s going far better than Cas had ever expected. He’d thought Ketch was signing him up to be tortured, forced to spend time with a pompous, entitled jerk while pretending to love him so that dumping him would be satisfactory revenge. But the more dates they go on and the more time he spends actually getting to know Dean Winchester—it’s making it harder and harder for him to get a grip on his feelings.

His eyes fall on Dean, relaxed in his sleep. That damn t-shirt is _taunting_ him, clinging to Dean’s shoulders and following the curve of his back. The skin above his waistband is exposed and lightly freckled; the dip at the base of his spine accentuating the curve of his ass and his thighs—

Cas needs a cold shower. And whatever else might help to get Dean and any not-platonic feelings about Dean out of his head.

:     :     :     :     :

The red carpet has never been Cas’s forte, but he understands the necessity: it’s all publicity for the film and for his own career. Ketch is always extremely invested in Castiel’s Red Carpet Appearances, from his outfits to his talking points to the follow up press and feedback from fans. Cas often envisions Ketch as a man hunched over a desk with at least four computers and two television screens surrounding him, making notes and muttering to himself about ‘exposure’ and ‘interactions.’ And Cas really does care about his fans and his charity work, but he’d be overwhelmed by keeping track of it all.

Surely today will be a field day for the celebrity gossip columns. Castiel Nowak spotted traveling with Dean Winchester! They’re attending a premiere together! Why? How? Just thinking about the incoming tweets and other commentary is enough to make his head spin.

He’s standing in front of the full length mirror, fixing his cufflinks, when the shower shuts off. Cas settles back in the chair at the desk, feet propped up. Morbid curiosity eats away at him until he opens the Twitter app. Ignoring his notifications for the moment, he flicks through the tweets that are collected at the top. Slices of life from his tentatively identified friends, people he’s worked with in the past, including in his Olympian days, and other assorted famous people.

A soft noise brings Cas’s attention away from his cell phone. Dean stands before him, tugging at the sleeves of his new suit, dark red and very flattering. No sign of his glasses which is actually kind of disappointing. Cas has a huge soft spot for Dean’s glasses and Dean’s face when he’s wearing them.

“Well?” he says, gesturing to the black button down underneath, open at his throat.

Cas swallows compulsively. “Great. Looks great.” He unnecessarily checks his phone for the time just to have a reason to look away from the handsome picture that Dean is painting. “We’ll need to head out now. You’re ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Dean shifts his weight over his feet. “You look good too, Cas.”

Cas stands up, running his hands over his black pants. His look is extremely simple and safe compared to Dean’s: black suit, light blue shirt, and a black silk tie. Cas will be the first to admit that he’s not exactly adventurous with his formalwear.

“Thank you, Dean. Shall we?”

They avoid making any comments as they make their way into the waiting vehicle. Cas advises Dean to wear his sunglasses, puts on his own, and waves with a contented smile. Hopefully nothing too frightening will happen this time around.

:     :     :     :     :

Cas’s wish comes true… sort of. Nothing as scary as being separated happens, but something equally as dramatic for the tabloids certainly does. And as much as he’d love to say it wasn’t his fault, well, he wants it to be.

Their journey into the theater is stilted, a bit of stop and go. Cas has to greet all of the right people and smile at every camera pointed in his direction. Or switch it up to a more stoic facial expression, but Ketch gets on him if he uses that too much. Dean begs off of being in the first few photos. Says that they’re here for Cas and smiles at him indulgently.

But Cas can’t take his eyes off of him. He’s gorgeous tonight. And the cameras totally pick up on it.

“Dean!” they shout. “Dean, get up there. You two look great together!”

That last one makes Dean blush hard, and Cas laughs, putting his arm around Dean’s waist. Tugging him closer makes Cas feel warm from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. Not in a gross, sweaty way, but in a heart-skipping, brain-melting kind of way. They stand together like that for several more photos, Dean relaxing into a natural smile. The press aren’t really looking to interview too many people aside from the actors and crew for the film, but there’s still a few questions out there for him to answer. Mostly about Dean. How long have they been together? Was that coffee shop really the first place they met? And what about Dean’s book?

“Yes, meeting at a coffee shop. Very cliché from what I understand.” Cas winks at the reporter. “But what can I say? He was swooning. I couldn’t resist taking that lovely face on a date.” Dean rolls his eyes but the smile remains.

“And what happens without the cameras?” Another report chimes in. “You’re not very prone to PDA from what we’ve seen.”

No one is more surprised than Cas when Dean steps into the light from his previous spot next to the cameras. But there he is, charming smile in place and hand wrapped tightly around Cas’s.

“Let’s just say that we’re both satisfied, isn’t that right honeybee?” And Dean, all of three inches taller than Cas, bends just slightly to press a firm kiss on his cheek. The crowd around them goes wild for it, fans screaming, and many flashes going off at once. But Cas only has eyes for Dean and the way he’s so damned proud of himself for that quip, smiling brightly at Cas and offering a private wink. If Cas had thought he’d had it bad before, apparently it just got worse.

Sitting through the film was just as trying, because Dean had gotten _cold_ and wanted to _hold his hand_ during the whole thing. And while Diana and Steve danced in the snow, Cas had to firmly scold himself—mostly in Polish—that he was being fucking ridiculous for developing _feelings_ for the man who sees him as a brute. Dean would never look at him that way.

While the after party is normally Cas’s least favorite part of any premiere, he’s looking forward to it this time because that’s where the alcohol is. He loves beer, but his head is calling for vodka. Something to knock him out of this stupid fantasy where Dean really is his date to these events because he… has feelings for Cas in return.

He can’t even _think_ the L word right now.

Dean takes one shot with him and then sticks to his beer like a smart person. Cas is not feeling very smart tonight, his mind repeating over and over about what a stupid fucking idea this was. Fake-dating Dean Winchester. No strings attached, of course. Then again, no one would have predicted that Cas would start falling for the beautiful, intelligent doctor. The family man who loves kids. The man who is terrified of planes. The cat allergy, the glasses, the good fashion sense, all of these little parts of Dean that he’s been so lucky to learn about in these past few months.

The realization hits him like a cement block to the chest: Cas is happy to be dating Dean, and would only be happier if it were real.

This prompts another couple of shots and some more internal scolding. Cas is feeling pretty good by the time he locates Dean again.

“Dean! Hi! Jesteś taki słodki.”

“Uh, hey Cas. You’re having fun I see.” Dean turns from the high top table he’d been leaning on to send him a gorgeous smile.

“Tak! Mam nadzieję, że dobrze się bawisz.” Dean just looks bewildered. Right, right, English. “This is so fun. I’m glad you’re here.” Wait, he hadn’t really meant to say that part out loud. But it makes Dean blush and look down at their shoes bashfully, so Cas doesn’t mind too much. Instead he puts his arm around Dean’s shoulders and brings their heads together, bumping into Dean gently. “This is fun, right?”

“Yeah Cas, this is pretty cool.” Dean smiles at him, bemused but fond. He clings to that fondness selfishly.

“Muzyka! Let’s go dance!”

“Oh, no, Cas, I don’t—”

But before Dean could finish his sentence, Cas is tugging him by the hand toward the dance floor, their drinks abandoned on the table. The bass thuds down through the floor and up Cas’s legs, his blood pulsing to match the rhythm. Once they’re deep enough in the crowd, Cas turns to see Dean, face flushed with the warmth of the room. They bounce wildly, joyfully to the music, sometimes shouting out lyrics or just laughing at each other. Slowly the people around them press in and in and soon Cas and Dean are dancing chest to chest. For a few moments, it is a live wire, an electric current flowing between two people. Cas has never felt something so profound as when he’s looking into Dean’s green eyes.

And then, on his next bounce, Cas comes down hard on one ankle and staggers slightly. The moment is broken. But Dean is right there, reaching around Cas’s middle to pull them together, to get Cas out of the crowd. They move toward a free couch, and Dean makes sure that Cas is settled upright before he crouches to examine Cas’s ankle.

“M’fine,” he grouses, petulant about the way their dance had ended.

“You’ve got weak ankles, Cas.” Dean pats his calf and smiles up at him. “But you’ll live.”

“Ja mam słabe kostki? Zaraz ci pokażę słabe kostki. You know I can run—”

“And dancing like that works your joints differently, you little shit.” Dean rises, gripping Cas’s arms to help him stand, too. “Come on, let’s get back to the hotel.”

“Ba I want to stay,” Cas whines, but obligingly moves his feet anyway so Dean can walk them to the exit.

“Why? What’s so special here that you need to stay for?”

“Don’t wanna sleep on the couch. And look how handsome you are.” He hugs Dean a little closer. It would be a travesty to miss out on seeing Dean in his suit.

“Okay, huggy bear.” Dean huffs a laugh. “We are pretty good-looking, aren’t we? We’ll take a selfie once we get outside, okay? And why the hell do you think you’re sleeping on the couch?”

“Nie chciałbyś spać ze mną w jednym łóżku, gdybyś wiedział jak bardzo mi się podobasz,” Cas slurs. He drags his feet only a little to slow their progress. Chuckling, Dean half-drags him into the lobby. He pulls Cas’s phone from his inner pocket and Cas revels in the casual intimacy. Dean calls their driver and patiently endures Cas’s petting. He doesn’t know why he’s doing it, he just can’t stop _touching_ Dean, running his hands over his chest and through his soft hair. It’s addicting and Cas can’t quite remember why he’s not supposed to do this.

“You’ve got some messages from Ketch,” Dean tells him, his voice low in his ear. “Do you want to check them?”

“Ba.” Cas takes the phone from Dean’s hand. “Selfie time.” While he thumbs open the app, Dean arranges them so Cas can lean sideways into his chest, arms around each other’s waists. The screen changes to reflect their faces, and Cas feels satisfied to see matching smiles. He snaps a couple, just in case one is blurry or his eyes are shut.

The car pulls up to the curb, and Dean leans over to open the door and gently push Cas inside. He stumbles only a little, sliding all the way to the other side to make room for Dean. Once the door is shut and they start moving away, he drops his head onto Dean’s shoulder and stares at their photo for a minute longer before Twittering it, or whatever you call that.

When morning comes, Cas’s whole body feels heavy. He opens his eyes and sees the wall and his bedside table, which features a nice-looking glass of water. Grunting, he puts both arms under his chest and pushes up, getting his knees under him so he can drink the water while he’s upright. He hears Dean’s laugh from the other side of the bed.

“Good morning, huggy bear.”

“If it’s earlier than ten, you’d better take that back.”

Dean laughs again. “It’s eleven, grumpy-pants. You’re sleeping the whole day away.”

“Dupek.” He shifts, lying back down on the fluffy pillows. He can see his clothes from yesterday sitting folded on top of his suitcase, obviously thanks to Dean. Cas had simply walked in, stripped down, and fell into bed. True to his word, Dean hadn’t made him sleep on the couch, and it looks like he’d climbed in right beside Cas. He’s sitting up now, back against the headboard, headphones pulled down around his neck and a book in his lap. He’s bare chested, and Cas has to fight the urge to lick his lips.

“You were so funny last night.” Dean smiles at him.

“I’ll be honest,” Cas says, closing his eyes and sinking deeper into the soft bed. “I don’t remember a whole lot after our selfie. I was pretty tired.”

“Yeah.” He can hear the smile curling at the edges of Dean’s words. “You were. You kept telling me not to go home.”

“What?”

“After I’d managed to convince you that you could sleep on the bed, you seemed to think that we were back in L.A. because you kept telling me not to go home. You even told the driver not to take me.”

“Oh. That’s embarrassing.”

“I only took one tiny video. For posterity’s sake, you understand.” Cas scoots over to Dean and throws an arm around his chest, poking his fingers into Dean’s side. Dean begins to laugh breathlessly. “Cas! Hey! Not cool man, I wasn’t—ha!—ready. Didn’t even—even know you could m—move this fast before noon. Stop it!” Dean manages to grab Cas’s elbows and push them away, holding their bodies apart and shaking with laughter. Cas is grinning, too. He flops backward onto his pillows again and grins at the ceiling like an idiot. His heart is pounding with the slight exertion and excitement. From being so close to Dean, touching him like that. At Ketch’s suggestion, he’s been trying to be more affectionate toward Dean on their dates. Hand holding and pulling out chairs for him, standing closer to him and letting his touches linger. Ketch wants him to escalate the relationship a bit more. Keep Dean—and the public—interested.

“I was teasing, you know.” Cas turns his head to see Dean, lying on his side with one arm propping up his head, looking back at Cas. “About the video.”

“I wasn’t teasing.” Dean’s brow creases in confusion. “About not going home. Maybe… When we get back to L.A., we could, I mean—”

“Are you asking me to move in with you?” Dean sounds incredulous but not horrified.

“Would you like that?” Cas finds that he means it sincerely.

Dean purses his mouth, his dimples showing, and Cas tries not to smile. When he realizes that Dean isn’t saying anything his stomach drops. Fuck, that was totally weird. Not at all the right time for this. Or maybe there’s no right time for this because Dean doesn’t want to. They’re _not actually boyfriends_ and Cas is just—

“Yeah, yeah I would Cas.” Dean shifts on the bed. “You just want me around to make you coffee in the mornings, is that it?”

Cas laughs, relief pooling in his gut. “Sure, Dean. And yes, you’ll earn your keep in cups of coffee.”

“And burgers.”

“Yes, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let’s all just pretend that cas would fly all the way to new york for a premiere instead of going to the one in LA okay? okay. Here’s some more Polish.  
> wariace: idiot  
> cokolwiek: whatever  
> jesteś taki słodki: you are so cute  
> mam nadzieję, że dobrze się bawisz: I hope you’re having fun  
> ja mam słabe kostki? zaraz ci pokażę słabe kostki: I have weak ankles? I'll show you weak ankles  
> nie chciałbyś spać ze mną w jednym łóżku, gdybyś wiedział jak bardzo mi się podobasz: You would not like to share a bed with me if you knew how much I like you  
> dupek: asshole  
> 


	4. It's Real

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the Painful Chapter™ so I’m sorry in advance. Please be advised that there’s discussion of an abusive relationship and drug abuse. Please take care.  
> [The National Coalition Against Domestic Violence](http://ncadv.org/learn-more/statistics/)  
> [The American Psychological Association](http://www.apa.org/topics/violence/partner.aspx/)

If Dean thought fake-dating-Cas-while-hiding-a-huge-crush-on-him was bad, fake-living-with-Cas-while-hiding-a-huge-crush-on-him is even worse.

Unless Cas leaves the penthouse or shuts himself in his office, Dean has zero protection from the way his feelings are smothering him at every turn. Some moments he feels like he can hardly breathe with how much he feels for Cas; he has well and truly fallen for him. And every time he remembers that it’s a _business deal_ he wants to curl up in a ball and cry.

Since that is definitely not an option right now, Dean focuses on enjoying all the perks. They do way more stuff together now, like trips to the grocery store so Dean can buy _good_ burger buns, not those weird organic whole wheat paleo whatever ones Cas bought last time. And spontaneous things, like going to the beach or a nearby museum. Cas really has a thing for museums, and also spas. If there is one thing Cas loves more than a good burger, it’s a deep tissue massage and some combination of cleanses followed by a bunch of burning hot rocks being placed on his back. Dean was skeptical to say the least, but he now totally gets why Cas would indulge in this stuff. He even paid for Dean to get a manicure, and then tolerated Dean’s desire to touch literally everything with his newly beautified and extremely soft hands.

And they end up doing more private stuff, too. Maybe Cas had been teasing about Dean paying to live in his apartment by making coffee and cooking, but the truth is that Dean loves to be in the kitchen, and Cas loves to eat everything Dean makes. He’s tried a bunch of new recipes on Cas, all with pretty stellar reviews. Lasagnas, bars, and rice dishes are all approved, though Cas definitely has a soft spot for his burgers. The strangest part is that there’s no cameras or paparazzi anywhere, but Cas will still smile at Dean just the same. He still touches Dean’s shoulder or holds his hand briefly when he’s excited. In the moment, it makes Dean feel like he’s floating on air. The frustration and self-deprecation comes later, when he’s lying in bed in Cas’s _guest room,_ berating himself for hoping there will ever be anything more.

Aside from cooking, Dean’s other skills include general car maintenance and a basic fashion sense. Cas is entirely lacking in both of these, much to Dean’s amusement. All those fancy cars and Cas can’t do anything other than drive them; if one of them isn’t working he just hops into a different one. Dean forces Cas to watch him do several oil changes, explains how to check the tire pressure, and shows him where the spare tire is in each vehicle, just in case.

For all of Cas’s really nice clothing, it turns out that either Ketch picks the outfit or Cas will do it himself, usually to pretty disastrous results one way or another. On a bad day, Cas picks a horrid flamingo print shirt and wears pink pants that don’t fit right and it’s just a general disaster. On a good day, he forgoes shoes and underpants in favor of worn out jeans and a faded t-shirt from the 90’s. To be fair, those days are pretty awful too, because Dean’s heart can’t handle how domestic it is when Cas sits at the kitchen table, one bare foot propped up underneath him, his head thrown back because he’s laughing at whatever Dean’s just said. They never use the formal dining room, so all of Dean’s memories like that one are of a sun-drenched kitchen and a golden glow in Cas’s eyes, hair, and smile. Dean has now taken over fashion duties, helping Cas into appropriate outfits for their various dates.

If only he got to help Cas _out_ of his outfits, too.

He gets the feeling that Ketch still doesn’t like him; Cas only really talks about what a good manager he is, a borderline miracle worker apparently, but Dean doesn’t see it. The only comment Ketch has made about their new living situation (to his face anyway) was a snarky “good, then, moving right along,” on their second morning in Cas’s apartment. The guy is condescending as hell and just a little slimy. He likes to make innuendos about how _big_ Cas is, how _satisfying._ Pretty weird, but if he’s got Cas’s best interests at heart he can’t be all bad.

Plus Cas’s embarrassed stuttering about never, _ever_ touching Ketch like that had had Dean roaring with laughter.

It’s getting more difficult to keep Sam off his trail. One of the guys he works with, Aaron Bass, has figured it out. He’d been pretty understanding about it, he was mostly just surprised that it was _true._ But pictures don’t lie, and that kiss on the cheek at the _Wonder Woman_ premiere had been very popular, apparently. Dean had wondered, just for a moment, about telling Aaron the truth of it. About letting someone know that he’s all but a _kept boy_ at the moment. Just thinking about it makes his heart falter and his stomach curdle. He doesn’t _want_ to be some object that Cas has scooped up for the moment, ready to be exchanged at the drop of a hat. But maybe that’s all he is, and that’s why he can’t tell Sammy or anyone else.

His weekdays have continued as normal, though the commute is a little longer. The outpatient clinic where he spends his days is in a newer part of the hospital, so it’s quite modern looking. He and a couple other doctors conduct individual and group therapy sessions throughout the day as well as host students from university programs and deliver lectures about their work. Then there’s the mountain of paperwork along with their research, both to stay up to date on advancements in their field and their own personal projects. It can be a lot of work, but Dean has never once regretted his decision to pursue psychiatry. Aaron is actually one of the residents they’re working with right now, along with Sarah Blake and Benny Lafitte. Dean’s fellow doctors include Cesar Cuevas, Alicia Banes, and Jody Mills, whose wife Donna plays unofficial mom to all of the employees in the clinic, including their lead secretary-guru-mastermind Billie. Everyone (except Donna) is slightly terrified of her due to her sharp wit and scary ability to do, well, literally anything. Even the other secretary Bela has no idea how Billie does it all, but she does.

Now that he thinks about it, Billie probably knows he’s dating Cas, too. No doubt she already knows that they’re living together _and_ that they’re faking it for the cameras because Cas bet Dean that he couldn’t handle dating him for a few months. She even probably knows that he’s doing it so he can write a biography-slash-tell-all about what a brute Cas is.

Except the thing is that the longer Dean continues to spend time with Cas, the more he realizes how _wrong_ he was about Cas. It’s true that his background is similar to those of some Neanderthals, but Cas seems to have figured out that special something that made him into, well, not an asshole. Cas isn’t invested in looking tough or having people be intimidated by him; he’s not concerned with people being _scared_ of him or with them doing whatever he wants them to do, whenever he asks them to do it. Cas doesn’t abuse the power and money he has, and he certainly doesn’t flaunt his strength or dominate over others. Cas has everything that _should_ make him into a brute and a caveman but he turned out to be precisely the opposite.

Dean flips the notebook in front of him shut and rolls to the other side of the bed. He groans, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes and rubbing slightly. Why did Cas have to actually be this great guy? All of Dean’s careful notes for his planned biography of a Neanderthal are nothing now. None of it is true, because Cas is a genuinely good guy. He always tips when they go out, he’s polite to his fans, he respects Dean, and he has lengthy conversations in Polish over Skype with his mother every week.

Dean accepted an invitation for a date thinking he was being saddled with a caveman, but instead he wound up with a Prince Charming.

Not that anyone would describe grumpy Cas in the morning as _charming,_ but Dean finds him kind of endearing. And he always leaves plenty of hot coffee for Cas to enjoy before leaving for work. He’s there five days a week, but one out of five he gets to finish up early and spend his time either at the clinic, at the hospital in meetings, at the university, or at home, depending on what his schedule is like. It took a ridiculously short amount of time for him to start thinking of Cas’s house as ‘home’ and that should probably worry him more than it does. As it is, Dean feels extremely comfortable with their arrangement, except for the part where he wishes Cas shared his feelings and they shared a bed.

When he returns in the evening, sometimes Cas is there or he’s off at his own meeting or event. However, he is good about letting Dean know where he is, and when he’ll be back so Dean can make his own dinner accordingly.

Today is a day off for both of them. Cas had mentioned last night that Ketch wanted him to be in on a phone call for something, but other than that he’s free for most of the day. They talked about going out this evening but, as per usual, Dean has the entire morning to himself. After finally getting out of bed—firmly leaving that damned notebook behind—he goes to a farmer’s market for some fresh fruits and veggies and stops by the library on his way back. Then he takes a shower and does a load of laundry, humming to Led Zeppelin all the while. After getting an affirmative response from Sam, Dean brings out his laptop and places it on the coffee table so that he can answer when Sam calls. A few minutes into folding his darks, it rings.

“Hi, Dean.” Sam gives him a little wave.

“Hey, Sammy. Good to see you,” he greets cheerfully.

“You too, Dean. You seem chipper,” Sam comments.

“It’s been a productive morning,” he says, pointedly ignoring his lack of progress on his supposedly forthcoming biography. “How about you?”

“I haven’t done too much. I’m working in the evening like I said, so I mostly just sit around on mornings like this one. Watch TV or whatever.”

Dean’s heart freezes. “Like… those trash entertainment news things or reruns?”

Sam stares at him like he just spoke Polish. “Uh, reruns, I guess? Or the news, but like, CNN? Not the EW?”

“That’s, uh, that’s good.” _Cool, Dean, let’s be weird as fuck, Sam will never figure it out._ “But still no Doctor Sexy, M.D., I’m guessing? A damn shame.”

“No, Dean, _I’m_ not the one with a doctor kink here.” Sam scrunches up his nose at the thought.

“Don’t knock it 'til ya try it, Sammy.” Dean winks, placing the last of his shirts in the pile, then transferring all the clean clothes back into the basket so he can take them back to his room. He resettles on the floor in front of his laptop and watches Sam eat a piece of toast. “Is that… Is that avocado toast?”

“Don’t knock it 'til ya try it, Dean,” Sam retorts. Dean rolls his eyes and complains about what a hippie Sam turned out to be. Sam teases him back for being an old man who goes to bed early and wakes up early and _enjoys it._ Dean doesn’t really have a comeback for that one.

“And anyway, you’re the one who will be at work tonight while I’m in my bed, cozy and relaxed.”

“I look forward to these night shifts though,” Sam mutters, eyes averted. Dean immediately takes notice.

“Oh? And why is that?” Sam blushes a bit but he doesn’t say anything. A crush, then? “Details, Sammy, don’t keep me waiting.”

“It’s _Sam,”_ he complains, but he relents. “There’s this woman about my age, maybe a little older, she comes in a couple nights a week after work on her way home, I guess. Her name is Eileen and she’s—Dean, she’s seriously amazing.” Uh oh, there’s those big ol’ heart eyes. “She’s got this cute laugh and she _loves_ Gabriel’s special red velvet cupcakes, and she always gets a pot of tea and sits at the table in the corner. And she’s deaf which I didn’t know about and was, like, confused for a minute, but she talked to me about it. Like, she totally didn’t have to, but she educated me a little bit about how some deaf people do learn how to speak, maybe they’re severely hard of hearing or something. And how not everyone wants to wear hearing aids or get the implants or anything, because being deaf is being part of a community. They even use a capital D for Deaf community. Isn’t that cool?”

“That is pretty amazing that she shared all of that with you,” Dean says once Sam pauses to take a breath.

“Yeah, I mean, like I said, I felt pretty embarrassed to not have realized it right away. I probably looked like an idiot.” Sam chuckles. “But I know what she’d say to that, too. That disabilities aren’t always visible, that there’s not a certain way deaf people look, they’re completely regular people just with a different language and culture.”

“Sounds like you two have really hit it off. Are you gonna learn it? ASL?”

“I mean I’d like to,” Sam admits, smiling. “I’ve been looking at stuff online and it can’t be mastered by a hearing person in a matter of months. You’ve got to be dedicated, immersed in the language for a period of at least a year before you’re anywhere near fluent. And did you know there’s like, dialects for ASL? Just like in spoken English there’s different sets of regional vocabulary and there’s Ebonics, it’s the same in ASL.”

“If anyone could do it Sammy, it’d be you.” Dean smiles encouragingly.

Sam huffs. “Thanks Dean, but I’d like to get the courage to ask her on a date first. We’ve just been chatting when she comes in while I’m working.”

“No sweat Sammy, you’ve got this.”

 _“Please_ stop calling me Sammy.”

Dean smirks. “Not a chance, Sammykins. What else is new in your life?” He grabs his laptop and rises so he can fall back into the soft, plush couch. He could get used to this couch.

Sam narrows his eyes for a moment and Dean thinks he looks suspicious of something. It must not be too troubling though because he continues, “I told you a while back about Gabriel wanting to expand, right? So get this. He’s talking about opening a new store down in Provo, and he’s talking about me taking over for a bit while he goes down there to scope it out, look at a few properties.”

“That’s awesome, Sammy, that’s so awesome! Look at you, managing the store solo.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself Dean, there’s other managers. I wouldn’t be, like, totally on my own. But… yeah.” Sam smiles and Dean’s heart swells with pride.

“You’re doing great for yourself. Be proud of it.”

“Thanks, Dean.” They smile at each other for a minute before Sam sighs. “I’ve gotta get going. It was really nice to talk to you.”

“Of course. You been in touch with Bobby and Jo and them?” Dean asks.

“Just this past weekend. I haven’t told them about Gabriel and the shop yet though, that was just in the last few days. If you mention that it’s no big deal but, uh, don’t tell them about Eileen yet? I’d like to wait and see if it goes anywhere first.”

“Sure thing, Sammy. Take care.”

“You too, Dean.” Sam waves at the camera before signing off. There’s always a tiny hint of melancholy after he says goodbye to Sam. They’re still trying to figure out what the new norm is between them after so many rocky years.

“Dean?” Cas’s voice interrupts his train of thought. “Sorry, I didn’t want to disturb you, but I was wondering if you wanted to grab lunch?”

“Yeah, I could eat.” Dean pushes himself up off of Cas’s couch. “I’d be just as happy making something, though. How do you feel about pasta?”

“The ravioli you bought the other day?”

“I like the way you think, Cas.” He bumps their shoulders together as they enter the kitchen, Cas reaching for a pot and Dean retrieving the ingredients. Then they settle into their regular spots, with Cas far away from anything flammable and Dean manning the stove. With a quick peek in the refrigerator, Dean sees that they have the stuff to make a good pasta sauce, so he decides to whip that up, too. It can always be saved for later if there’s extra.

“So, I didn’t, like, eavesdrop or anything,” Cas starts in a tone that’s clearly meant to be casual. “But was that your brother on Skype?”

“Oh, yeah. Sam. I’ve told you about him?”

“Several times.” Cas smiles at him. “You’re very fond of him.”

“He’s my best friend,” Dean replies. “Love that kid to pieces. See, I say kid but he’s all grown up.”

“I have no doubt that my brother would say the same for me,” Cas says. “Michael.”

“Right, you’ve mentioned him. He’s the professor, right?”

“Yes. I don’t know that I see Hannah as still being a little girl, though. She’s twenty-seven and she could absolutely kick my ass if she wanted to.”

Dean laughs. “That’s scary. Would they make you give back your medal?”

“Maybe, so don’t tell Rufus.” Cas grins. “Where does Sam live?”

“In Utah, south of Salt Lake City.” Dean feels a pang in his gut.

“Is that where you’re originally from?”

“No,” Dean says. “We were born and raised in Kansas.”

“I’m helpless with the states in the middle.” Cas laughs, bright and easy. “I only know the ones on the coasts.”

“Heh. Yeah.” Dean feels awkward but he doesn’t really know how to talk about this with Cas. He’s not sure that he wants to.

After a moment, Cas continues, “So why Utah then?”

“Uh, it’s where he works.”

Cas seems to wait for Dean to elaborate, but he doesn’t. “What about your parents? Still in Kansas?”

Dean hesitates. This is seriously the last conversation he wants to have right now. But then again, this is _Cas._ They’ve grown fairly close over these past few weeks together. On the other hand, however, this is always really fucking painful to talk about. And it’ll only snowball into all the other dark shit he’s kept hidden. On the other, _other_ hand. How many hands is that? Maybe… maybe Cas would listen and be there for him.

Seeming to realize the awkwardness of the situation, Cas backtracks. “I mean, if you—you don’t really have to say—”

“They’re dead,” Dean blurts out, not looking at Cas. “Passed away fifteen years ago.”

“Oh, Dean.” Cas’s voice has gone soft and pained. “I’m—Dean, I didn’t mean to bring that up.”

He stares hard at the saucepan on the stove. “It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

“Yeah. You, uh, probably don’t want to hear another ‘I’m sorry’ but…”

“It’s okay,” he repeats. “Was a long time ago.” He sees Cas nod out of the corner of his eye. “Wouldn’t want to bring down the mood.”

“Dean.” Cas takes a step toward him, settling his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “It’s fine. You are free to tell me as much or as little as you want to. No pressure.” Dean wants to lean into Cas’s touch, his support.

“Um. Maybe while we eat?”

“Sure.” Cas smiles at him gently, and the hand on his shoulder migrates to rub down his back soothingly. He nearly shivers at the feeling. Cas allows him to quietly make their lunches, bringing two plates to the counter and placing silverware on the table, along with two glasses of water. They sit and dig in, Dean still lost in his head. How much does he want to tell Cas anyway? His brain is trying to parse out only the most crucial and least painful details, but his heart is ready to bare it all.

“So, uh, we lived in Kansas, like I said. Lawrence. Me and my mom and dad. I was four when she had Sammy, and we were the picture perfect little family. The house we lived in was kind of old though, and one night in July, right before I was going to start the eighth grade, there was a fire. I was able to get out, and my dad comes running outside with Sam. He pushes Sam practically into my arms and says to stay there. He ran back inside to get her, but…” He trails off. “The firefighters couldn’t save them. It was reckless for my dad to run back inside, but I know why he did it. They were soulmates, and he couldn’t just leave her. He wouldn’t have been able to keep going without her.

“I think I’ve mentioned my Uncle Bobby, he’s Jo’s dad, she’s got the two kids? Bobby was a mechanic like my dad, but he and my aunt had moved to Sioux Falls actually right before the fire and everything. They’re not really my aunt and uncle but they might as well be. Anyway Bobby and Ellen took us in after that, per my mom’s will, but we had to move to Sioux Falls, which wasn’t great at first. We were both sad and angry, me and Sam, but we got used to it.

“I, uh, I wish I could say that it was happily ever after from then on.” Dean huffs, drawing strength from Cas’s steady presence. “But even with all the shit I went through, it was Sam who wound up in a lot of trouble. He’s always been sensitive, really smart, but sort of lonely, and then he’s got to start everything over again. And I—I should’ve been paying more attention. But then I went off to college in Minnesota and we kept in touch, but it’s just not the same, you know? And Bobby and Ellen didn’t see it, not even Jo. He just… he got into the wrong crowd.

Dean pauses and takes a drink of water. He knows that Cas is looking at him but he can’t quite bring himself to make eye contact.

“There was this girl, Ruby. I didn’t find out about her for a while, which I chalked up to average teenage boy embarrassment and me being an annoying older brother. But Sam was hiding her from us, lying about who he was spending time with and where he was going. That wasn’t good and I did try to talk to him about it, but he didn’t seem to care because nothing changed. Things got worse, actually. There were a couple of incidents at school, fights. When they called Bobby and Ellen in, we found out about Sam skipping classes, flunking tests, not turning in homework, and a general change of attitude. Some of his teachers hadn’t even noticed because they said it was _normal,_ that Sam had always been a bad kid who ran with a bad crowd. I think we tried everything; we were all desperate for Sam to turn it around. We _knew_ that wasn’t normal for him, but he didn’t care to listen. I had gotten my psychology degree and I was doing several years of graduate work; meanwhile my extremely smart little brother barely graduated high school and refused to go to college. Choosing not to go or having medical issues is one thing, but Sam just kind of told us to fuck off. I knew my brother wasn’t throwing his life away, that there was more going on.”

Cas reaches for his hand where it’s lying on the tabletop. His long fingers dance over Dean’s loosely curled fist and brings their palms together.

“Unfortunately.” Dean sighs. “I was right, I guess. A few weeks after he turned nineteen I sort of confronted him about it. We went out to this park and sat for a while and he looked so damn uncomfortable. He was fidgeting and anxious and frankly, he looked like shit. But we talked and I told him about how scared we all were but we still loved him so much, we just wanted to help him. He pushed Jo away, wouldn’t talk to Ellen, barely even looked at Bobby, and when he did talk to me it was never about anything substantial. He was avoiding me, too, and I was honest with him about how much that was hurting me. How much I cared about him. And… it worked, I guess. Sam told me that back when he was starting eighth grade, a popular girl named Ruby had taken him under her wing. She’d made him feel important and special. That it’d been a no brainer when she’d asked him to try drugs with her. First just cigarettes, then putting alcohol in their soft drinks. They were doing some hard shit by the time that we started picking up on Sam’s behavior changing. The worst of it was this street drug, Demon’s Blood. It made them wild and for a while Sam was loving it.

“At the time we were having that conversation, he hadn’t had any in a while, so his body was rebelling a bit. When I asked him, he’d said that Ruby was _punishing him._ I’m immediately on the defensive. ‘What in the hell does that even mean? First she gets you addicted and now she’s punishing you by not giving you any?’ Sam said it was part of their relationship, though. That Ruby was in charge. I kept asking about it, pulling out all the tricks I was learning in my program, as strange as it is to think of me shrinking my own brother. But Ruby was definitely abusing him, I was sure of it. She controlled him all the time, wanted to know where he was and who he talked to. After graduation Bobby and Ellen pushed him to get a job, to stay busy, so he started working at this gas station. She would be there, keeping track of him. She got angry and physically violent with him, even though he didn’t really see it that way. But I saw the scratches. Everything was about drugs for them; he could have some if she was happy with him. I begged him to get help. I knew it might not do any good right away, but I thought it might do _something.”_

Dean’s gaze is focused on their clasped hands, food forgotten for the moment. There’s a lump in his throat that he needs to breathe past before he can continue.

“They accidentally overdosed together the night after that. Fucking scariest phone call of my life. I had told Bobby and Ellen that he’d opened up to me, but I had spared them most of the details aside from ‘shitty girlfriend’, because I thought I might be able to help him before it got worse. I know now that wasn’t the best choice, but that’s what I did. Jo flew in to be with us while we waited for Sam to wake up. That was the worst two days of my life, but at least he woke up. Ruby didn’t. The doctors recommended a rehabilitation facility where Sam could live and be taken care of and recover. Sam got all the help he needed for over two years and they helped us find a place for him to live nearby—outside of Salt Lake City—after he was released. That girl really did a number on him and he was really out of sorts for a while. It was hard on all of us, hard to continue with my studies, knowing that he was still struggling. But that was when I really found my calling.

“Part of Sam’s journey was opening up to us about the things he’d kept hidden. About how he’d seen Ruby as being perfect for him and so strong, and how he’d overlooked how abusive she really was. Society has a harder time imagining women as being abusive toward their loved ones, and we’re not good at supporting male victims. And we hurt men when we do this, too. We raise boys telling them not to be emotional, not to be too soft. We encourage small acts of misogyny and acts of aggression toward women and other men. Intimate partner violence makes up 15% of all violent crime, and while most of this violence and our research is about women being abused by men, it can happen to anyone. We think it’s as high as one in four men experience violence from their partner. So I started writing a book about it. About idolizing strong women and strong men so much that we ignore signs of abuse, when the aggression goes too far. Explaining Hollywood’s preference for worshipping abusers instead of blacklisting them was a clear connection; I made several examples of men who abuse women and still win Oscar’s.”

“And then there was me,” Cas cuts in, still staring at Dean. “Why me?”

“I went through a list of the hottest male celebrities right now and picked out the ones with aggressive tendencies or background information like yours. It was easy to just draw connections for the sake of statistics. It was never about your personal life; I didn’t know anything about you at the time. I just knew that you fit the stereotype that I was trying to explain, that we as a society glorify men and women who are aggressive, seemingly without a second thought to what comes after.” Dean pokes at the pasta on his plate, now cold. “The most ridiculous thing about all that is the fact that you’re nothing like the statistics. You’re the opposite, in fact. You _could_ be a brute but you’re not.”

Cas stares at him, looking astonished. Dean meets those blue eyes with a tentative smile. He’s… he wants to apologize to Cas for ever associating him with his research. The man who broke the norm.

“I… thank you for saying so. I spent so much time wondering what I could have done that would make you think I was some kind of abusive jackass.” Cas huffs a laugh. “I guess you were just doing what made sense for the book, though. Maybe I should have actually read it before I assumed.” Dean squeezes his hand for reassurance. He’s not upset about any of it, anyone would have thought the same. “I was mostly worried about the repercussions for Amazing Grace anyway; Ketch was pretty up in arms about your slander or libel or whatever.”

Dean chuckles. “Sounds like Ketch. What repercussions though?”

“I mean, as you pointed out, there’s a low chance I would have suffered in my film career over your accusations. Sadly I do understand that there are people I’ve worked with who are not exactly model citizens, and it’s up to me to limit my interactions with those people when I can. But my work with Amazing Grace started because I was one of the founders back before I got into film, and since I’ve gotten more famous I had to step back from actually being on the board myself. Now I’m just the celebrity face and I work with them a lot, but if they were to choose to work with someone else, someone who hasn’t been accused of abusive behavior… And really, it’s the kids at Little Angel I was worried about. A lot of those kids come from terrible situations, and to put me in there, if I really was abusive, would devastate those kids. They would have no faith in us to get them the help that they need.”

“Oh, Cas. I’m sorry.”

“I haven’t heard anything like that,” Cas tells him. “It hasn’t come up to my face, anyway. Hopefully most of those people know that that’s not me. Or maybe they did actually read the book so they know that you weren’t necessarily accusing me of abuse.”

“Right,” Dean says. “You were statistically likely to turn out to be an asshole, but you managed to turn into the perfect guy instead.”

“…the perfect guy, huh?”

Dean splutters, horrified that he’d actually said that part out loud. He’s just ruined everything, hasn’t he? Then he notices that Cas is blushing and they’re _still holding hands._

“Uh, yeah, you know, objectively speaking,” he finally stammers. He’s probably blushing too, damned pale skin.

“Sure,” Cas agrees, but he’s smiling like he can see right through Dean’s bullshit.

They sit together quietly for another minute before Cas mutters to himself about Dean’s pasta and whisks the plate off of the table and into the microwave. He keeps his back to Dean and Dean watches him with fondness and… something else in his chest, something warm and gooey and messy but _good._ Really good.

Cas returns to the table and reaches for Dean’s hand again, holding Dean’s left hand in both of his and frowning at him until Dean starts eating. All is quiet in the kitchen and Dean is still feeling a little raw from putting his heart on his sleeve but he falls asleep that night with a smile on his face, because letting Cas in like that had felt like the right thing to do. He’s hoping for the courage to maybe talk about his feelings in the near future. Maybe. For now he’ll dream about the blue of Cas’s eyes and the warmth of his smile.

:     :     :     :     :

Dean couldn’t be happier that today is his ‘early day’ and he gets to go home at one o’clock. No hospital meetings, no work at the clinic that he can’t stop and finish up tomorrow, nothing. He’s somewhat hesitant to admit it—no matter how much _more_ they’ve shared recently—but a big reason he’s glad to go home early is because Cas has been sort of _off_ these past couple of days. Could be nothing, but Dean’s gut says that there’s something wrong and he wants to figure it out as quickly as possible.

He lets himself into the apartment quietly. Cas’s garage is a detached structure behind the building, and there weren’t any noticeable absences of Cas’s vehicles, so he’s pretty sure that Cas is home right now. When he hears voices coming from the kitchen, he realizes he was right, but also that Cas isn’t alone. They sound like they’re having an argument and Dean wonders what he should do; he really doesn’t want to interrupt but he also doesn’t want to eavesdrop. Then he hears his name.

“That pig-headed psychiatrist has you all turned around and backwards,” Ketch all but shouts. Well, Dean can’t say he’s surprised that Ketch thinks so low of him, but he is surprised he didn’t realize the vehicle on the street belonged to this pompous ass.

“You’re wrong about him and you’re wrong about me,” Cas retorts. Dean’s heart flutters in his chest at Cas’s defense. “Everything is fine. _You_ are the one who wanted us to date in the first place, remember?”

“I know that, Castiel.” Dean leans forward a little, as if to help his ears reach down the hallway and hear them. “I just worry about you.”

Cas laughs. “Sure, Ketch. What is it that you’re worried about?”

“Just… go through this with me. What are you doing here? With Winchester?”

“Ask Dean out, get him to be my boyfriend. Woo him and sweep him off his feet.” There’s a pause. Cas sighs. “Make it public, and then dump him in public; make a scene and embarrass him.”

“You wanted to humiliate him, Castiel, that’s why we’re doing this. I did all this work to make you two look like a fairytale relationship. Also, hello, biggest humiliation of all, have you fucked him yet?” Dean’s stomach drops.

“I didn’t know you could be so _vulgar,_ Mister Ketch. Not that it’s any of your business, but no, we’ve not yet _fornicated.”_

Ketch claps his hands twice and Dean feels so sick he might collapse. “Chop chop, Castiel, we’re on a deadline here.”

Yeah, Dean doesn’t need to hear any more of this. He spins back to the door, bending to grab his discarded shoes and escaping into the elevator. He’s shaking so hard he struggles to put the keys into Baby’s ignition. Once he’s gotten a little ways down the street, the tears start to fall; the shock has given way to the grief. How could Dean have deluded himself into thinking that any of this was _real?_ That Cas had actually cared about him, even liked him? What a fucking joke.

He sniffles and takes deep breaths all the way back to his old apartment. He slams the front door shut behind him and leans up against it, choking now at the onslaught of fresh tears. And he cries.

Dean hasn’t cried like this in a long time. Then again, he hasn’t been hurt like this in a long time, either. Maybe never. His studio feels so _empty,_ and it’s a little dusty from the time he’s been away. Been with Cas. Castiel. _Fuck,_ this hurts so much.

Hurts too much to do anything other than wander over to his bed, discarding his shoes and jacket on the way. He wipes at his eyes and wonders briefly if he should change the sheets before deciding that it’s way more effort than it’s worth. What he needs to do right now is stop existing. So he curls up under his soft comforter and cries until his face is raw and his contacts are stinging, and then he sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I was sorry


	5. The Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last bit of Polish:
> 
> ty gnoju: you piece of shit

When Dean hadn’t come home from work last night Cas had been extremely worried. Well, first he had been grateful that it wasn’t Dean’s half-day because Ketch had dropped by unannounced. It’s never really fun when Ketch shows up to lecture him about something, but this time it was about how their idea to humiliate Dean and how Ketch is suspicious that Cas is getting too close to Dean.

His suspicions are correct of course, but Cas felt like he’d needed to appease Ketch, just hold him off for a little bit longer. Just until Cas can figure out what the hell he’s going to do about the fact that he’s head over heels for Dean when he’s supposed to be faking it.

But after Ketch leaves and Dean still hasn’t come home or left him any messages, the worry comes flooding back. He tries calling Dean, sending him texts every so often, too. Eventually the calls don’t even ring anymore, just go straight to voicemail. Cas attempts to reason with himself over and over again.

_Dean is not obligated to tell you where he is at all times. Dean could have any number of reasons to be held up at work, to have been called away to something happening after work. He could have needed to go back to his own apartment for something. He could be out with another friend or even his brother. It’s not a big deal._

He doesn’t manage to convince himself of that for more than a few minutes at a time for the whole evening; Cas eventually falls asleep on the couch in the living room, hopelessly watching his phone.

When he wakes there’s still no word from Dean. It’s already ten in the morning, meaning that Dean has been up for two or three hours, leaving Cas to stew in a nauseating mix of worry and frustration. Finally, at noon, his phone beeps with a new text.

**< < From: Dean <<  
Hi I just got your messages. My phone died last night and I stayed at my place where unfortunately I didn’t have a charger. I’m at work now.**

**> > To: Dean >>  
Hey, thanks for telling me, and I’m sorry your phone was dead. Have a good day at work! Let me know what you want to do for dinner tonight or if you’d like to go out.**

After two hours without a response, Cas is struggling to stay focused on his projects. Dean didn’t come home last night, Dean stayed at his old apartment instead. That isn’t inherently a problem, but it is unusual and it makes Cas feel slightly uneasy. He’s totally overreacting, right? It’s really not a big deal.

But over the next few days, it becomes apparent that that night was just the start of their problems. By the end of the week, they’ve been dating for four months and Cas barely sees Dean anymore. They go on dates like they used to where Cas picks up Dean, they go to a public venue and are photographed together, they hold hands a bit, and then they go home, or sometimes Dean asks to be dropped off at his apartment. He’ll tell Cas it’s because he’d left something there that he needs for work the next day, or he’ll complain about the commute from Cas’s place. They're all excuses, Cas can tell. Dean stays at the clinic later than normal, including on his half-day, and rarely remembers to return Cas’s texts or calls. After a whole week of distance, Cas is feeling heartsick.

It’s like things are back to 'normal,' back to how they used to be when they started this—this _relationship._ And it _was_ a real relationship, Cas is sure of it. Hadn’t Dean felt it, too? He’d thought that Dean was slowly starting to see him as _more._ What the hell happened so quickly that Dean is now completely disinterested in spending time with Cas?

They’re seated in a quiet corner of a cute Italian place when Cas’s patience slips. He’s been willing to wait until Dean opened up to him about just what is going on, but the revelation doesn’t seem to be forthcoming. This restaurant is nice but not too high-end for them to enjoy their meal comfortably. Even so, Dean is visibly tense and doesn’t seem to have much of an appetite, which is rare for him.

Cas tries several tactics for starting and maintaining a conversation with Dean. He asks about work, about Sam, talks about sports and movies and even tries for politics, but Dean doesn’t say more than a few words in response to any question or comment.

“Dean.” Cas sighs, switching methods. “What is going on?”

“What do you mean what’s going on?” Dean is stubborn as a mule when he wants to be.

“You’re the one who hasn’t looked at me properly all night. Or had anything to say in conversation. This is like our dates all the way back in the spring when we had no idea how to talk to each other.”

“And you’ve got me all figured out now, huh, Nowak?” Cas _hates_ that Dean is back to calling him by his last name. It feels like a chasm grows wider between them at every turn.

“Well, no, not completely,” Cas replies. “But a little bit, yes.”

“Newsflash buddy, fake-dating someone doesn’t actually mean you know them.”

“Of course.” Cas feels hollow inside that Dean would choose to bring that up now. They’ve been avoiding talking about it for weeks, and Cas felt like that was because they were both moving away from feeling like strangers and more in the direction of close friends, or even—

“I should just be glad we’re out at all, right? That you’re okay with being seen with a lowly doctor?” Dean sneers. “You ain’t the one who’s settling.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means this sucks, Cas. If I had known just how long six months was I wouldn’t have made that deal.”

Cas frowns. “Okay, Dean, I—I can see that you’re frustrated right now. I’d really like to help, I don’t understand—”

“What is so fucking difficult for you to understand, Nowak?” Dean spits at him, face pinched and red. “I hate having to spend time with you. I just need to last another month and a half and I’ll be free, so I’m just—just getting by, okay? Is that _okay_ with you mister hot shot?”

“I—” Cas stutters, heart frozen cold in his chest. “It’s—of course it’s okay. If that’s really how you feel.”

“Yeah, that’s how I _feel, Castiel._ Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m trying to eat here.” Dean’s gaze returns to the plate in front of him, where he glowers at the limp pasta until their waiter comes back. It’s the most awkward dinner Cas has had in _years,_ let alone in these past few months. With Dean at his side, Cas has been happier than ever. Something must have happened to change Dean’s opinion of him and he needs to find out just what that was.

Cas finds himself bored and lonely more often than not. Dean spends a lot of time at work and at least half of his nights at his place. Cas fervently wishes for the ability to read Dean’s mind, due to the fact that any conversation along this line gets derailed by Dean’s anger and usually ends unbearably silent and sad.

A tiny part of Cas feels almost satisfied. This is precisely what they had agreed to; date in public for six months. Force the affection and the happiness. But recently it’s been less and less difficult to pretend when they are in public, and it really wasn’t forced at all when they were in private. He and Dean did ‘normal’ couple things like movie marathons on Netflix and cooking together, and they slowly became more affectionate doing those things, even though there were no photographers around to capture it. It had felt so good and natural, and Cas misses that terribly. He misses Dean and their closeness as if he were missing a limb. Even his mother notices in their latest Skype call. She’d asked after his health and pestered him relentlessly about getting enough sleep and eating right, because he looked sickly. Cas couldn’t even argue with that.

On Saturday morning, he suddenly gets an idea. Ketch would normally be the very last person he would turn to about his relationship with Dean, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Plus, if he can frame it like they’re going to mess up The Plan, maybe Ketch will come up with some actually decent solutions.

**> > To: Ketch >>  
Come over. I need advice.**

**< < From: Ketch <<  
I’m touched. I’ll be there soon.**

It’s eleven, so Cas makes himself another cup of coffee and settles in to watch reruns of that hospital drama Dean loves so much. It’s wildly inaccurate and was definitely created by someone with some sort of doctor kink, but Cas is invested in it now, all thanks to Dean’s devotion. Ketch lets himself in at a quarter past twelve and Cas practically bounds off of the couch to question him.

“Ketch, listen. Dean’s been really distant these past two weeks or so. I’m worried about our plan not working out the right way because, well, he’s acting like he’s not interested anymore. I’m sure you can come up with some ideas to turn this around, right?”

The last thing Cas was expecting is for Ketch to start laughing.

“Oh, oh that’s just brilliant. He hasn’t told you yet? He must be feeling properly humiliated, then.”

“What on Earth are you talking about?”

“Oh, Castiel.” Ketch smirks at him with a calculating look on his face. “Are you really so naïve?”

“Let’s say that I am and get on with the explanation.” Cas grits his teeth.

Ketch barks a laugh but it’s devoid of humor. “I really was worried about you, Castiel. Worried about you embarrassing the hell out of yourself and, more importantly, me. How dare you go and fall in love with that imbecile? And to think you could hide it from me? Please. You’re like a moonstruck, babbling idiot when he’s around. And it’s worse when he’s not, because then all you do is talk about him and text him. It’s disgusting. And worse, you were never going to make good on my plan. You would have chickened out of publicly humiliating him and you would have continued to follow after him like a little lost puppy without my help.”

“What. Did. You. Do.” Cas is fuming. Ketch is right, of course, he is head over heels for Dean, but what the hell did Ketch do about it?

“Well, I dropped by on Dean’s early day off, of course. I knew he’d be coming here, so all I had to do was position the two of us out of sight and get you talking about my brilliant revenge plan.”

“No…” Cas takes a step backward, bumping into the back of his couch. “You didn’t.”

“Oh yes, and you tried so hard to convince me that you were going to be a good little soldier, didn’t you?”

 _Fuck,_ this is so fucked up. Dean had heard all of that? About getting revenge and—

“Kurwa,” he curses, recalling their conversation. “You asked me about having sex with him.”

“I’m still surprised that you haven’t,” Ketch remarks. He’s leaning against one wall, casually, as if this is the least important thing he’s done today. “Winchester’s got a nice enough body, and he probably loves to take it—”

Cas strides over to this vermin who used to be his manager and punches him right in the face. Then he grabs Ketch’s collar and hauls him back upright for another one. It feels good to hear the bones in his nose crack and Ketch’s cries of pain.

“You deserved that, ty gnoju,” Cas tells him. “You—you’ve ruined everything and you hurt Dean, someone who has never done anything to you.”

“He barely even did anything to _you,_ you fucking asshole.” Ketch spits blood onto Cas’s carpet. “I exaggerated most of it and you just ate it up. So fucking desperate to be angry, to get revenge on a hapless shrink. Maybe you are a caveman just like he says.”

Cas looks down at Ketch, knelt on the ground and holding his bloodied face. “You’re wrong,” he says. “Dean knows who I am. I just need a chance to explain.”

“You’re going after him?” Ketch looks baffled, then winces at the pain. “Castiel, why does this matter so much to you?”

“It matters because Dean Winchester matters. And you, Arthur Ketch, do not. You’re not welcome here anymore.”

“You can’t be serious.” Ketch staggers to his feet. Cas crosses his arms and glowers. “You’re serious. Fuck, are you kidding me? All of this for a piece of—”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll break your jaw,” Cas threatens. “Get out.”

Ketch looks him up and down and apparently decides that it’s not worth the risk. He turns for the door and throws one last look of disgust over his shoulder before storming out, tossing his key onto the sofa by the door. The second it closes behind him, Cas is scrambling. He changes into clean clothes and puts on deodorant, giving his teeth a quick brush and his hair a onceover—the latter is pretty much a lost cause on a normal day, and today is no exception. He grabs his cell phone from the kitchen, his house keys from the table, and steps into the first pair of shoes he can find. Then he flies into the elevator and out into the garage, grabbing the set of car keys closest to the door and throwing himself into the driver's seat.

Hands still shaking, Cas drives nearly fifteen miles over the speed limit the whole way to Dean’s apartment building. It’s gray and square with nice white trim on the windows, and Cas can see a light on in Dean’s window. He throws open the door and bounds up the staircase and finally, finally knocks.

It goes silent inside, and then footsteps approach. When Dean opens the door, Cas nearly falls to the ground with relief. Dean’s face shutters immediately, his gaze cold behind his glasses.

“What do you want, Nowak? You can’t just show up here unannounced.”

There’s a man sitting on Dean’s couch, long legs bent and his elbows resting there. He’s looking straight at Cas with a curious expression. When his eyes flit to Dean, he becomes concerned, sitting up slightly. Cas feels like he’s been punched in the gut, knocking the air out of his lungs.

“I’m—I wanted to talk to you, Dean.”

“Yeah, I can see that. But I have company and we’re actually leaving soon, so—”

“Leaving?” Cas notices a small suitcase sitting next to the couch and his stomach drops.

Dean sighs. “Yes, Castiel, leaving. I’m going to stay with my brother, and—”

“Castiel Nowak? This is Castiel Nowak?” The man on the couch must be Dean’s little brother Sam, Cas is utterly relieved to realize.

“Um, uh,” Dean stammers. Cas waits. “Yes, this is him. Cas, this is Sam Winchester.”

“Cas?”

“Nuh-uh.” Dean points a finger at Sam. “We are not having this conversation right now. And you—” He points at Cas. “Need to leave.”

“Dean, please,” Cas pleads. “Just five minutes. All I’m asking for is five minutes. Let me explain something, and then you can decide what happens next. Please.”

“This sounds like it’s serious, Dean. Maybe—” Sam tries.

“You shut your mouth, both of you,” Dean snaps. “I don’t—” He exhales harshly through his nose, clearly frustrated. “This is not a good time, Cas.”

“Of course it’s not, Dean. Nothing about this is good. Nothing has been good for the past two weeks and I finally found out what happened and I—”

“Okay, great, then you know why I want you to get the fuck out of my sight!” Dean snarls. He puts his hand on the door like he’s going to slam it in Cas’s face, but Cas quickly puts one hand on the door to stop him. “Cas, move.”

“No, Dean, I can’t do that.”

“Well, you—Cas, what the fuck happened to your hand?”

“What?” Cas looks at the hand propping open the door, noticing for the first time that his knuckles have cracked and bled. “I can explain that, too. Just—”

“Why should I listen to anything you have to say, huh?” Dean is shaking with rage.

“Dean, you’re angry and you’re hurt and I don’t blame you one bit. But what you heard wasn’t true. It hasn’t been true for the past six weeks at the very least and it’s definitely not true now.”

“And why in the fuck should I believe that, you—you—”

“Because it wouldn’t have happened at all if I wasn’t completely in love with you!” Cas shouts. The whole damned building has probably heard them by now but Cas could not care less. Not when Dean looks like this, ire replaced by shock. So shocked that he lets go of the door, and Cas takes the opportunity to shut it behind him. He leans back against it, letting his head fall back, too. His emotions have been running wild all day—and after a pretty emotional two weeks—and he’s exhausted. “This is all my fault. I never should have agreed to that plan, to meet you that first day—”

“Stop talking,” Dean says. “Stop. Go back.”

“You’re really going to make me say it again?” Cas’s eyes are closed, face tilted up. He won’t be able to bear seeing Dean’s expression now.

“Uh, as much as I’m loving watching a real life soap opera play out in front of me.” Holy fuck, he’d forgotten about Sam. They both jump and look at him guiltily, but Sam is smiling this small, contented smile. “Nice to finally meet guy who’s been sweeping Dean right off his feet.”

 _“Sam,”_ Dean says in a harsh tone, but he’s blushing. God, how Cas missed that blush, _especially_ seeing the blush while Dean is wearing glasses. It’s like everything about Dean is so much more cute when he’s wearing them. Does Cas have a glasses kink? “Sam—you—”

“It’s cool, I know when I’m not wanted.” Sam smiles toothily. “If you don’t mind moving away from the door, I’m going to sneak out of it now and definitely not come back to pick up Dean until tomorrow morning, just in case.”

“Sam, that’s really not—we—”

“Okay, bye guys!” Cas had enough brain power to move away from the door enough that Sam could slip out; it all happened so quickly. And now Dean and Cas are standing nearly chest to chest.

“Hello, Dean,” he says, not quite sure where this is heading.

“You—seriously? ‘Hello, Dean.’ You little—ugh.” Dean huffs, still frustrated. He crosses his arms and his forearms brush against Cas’s pectorals as he does so. “Okay, talk. You get your five minutes, I guess.”

“Look, Dean, I fucked up. I did. Way back when your book came out, we were watching your interview about it. And Ketch he—he started talking about how we needed to get revenge, how _dare_ you say those things about me. It was his idea to invite you to that event at Little Angel’s, and to make a deal to date you. I had a lot of mixed feelings in the beginning. You were so much more handsome than I was expecting, and I had to keep reminding myself what a douchebag you were.” Dean’s brow furrows. “Obviously, it kept getting harder to call you a jerk inside my head. So then I was fighting with myself practically every day. _You do not have a crush on Dean Winchester. Yes you do, you idiot._ It went on and on like that. I had to focus on other things, like the reporters following us around, or think about the interview some more. Ketch said that you said that I’m abusive to my loved ones—”

“I never fucking said that, Cas, I—”

“I know,” he soothes Dean. “I know that now. And I know what you heard me say. That you heard me talk about that disgusting fucking plan to get back at you.” Dean’s jaw tightens. “There’s no excuse. We did plan to do something fucking horrible to you, Dean, and I’ll understand if you—if you can’t forgive me. But I want you to know that the me who was saying those things was the me who was being pushed by his manager into doing something he knew was wrong. I thought that I had to go through with it, I didn’t know what else to do.” Cas pauses a moment to catch his breath before continuing.

“Today I asked Ketch to come over and help me figure out how to win you back. These past two weeks have been so fucking miserable; it’s like I can’t function without you around anymore. Ketch comes over and just laughs at me. Then he’s all ‘you’re so naïve’ and talking about helping me. He tricked me. I didn’t know you were coming home early but _he_ did and _he_ planned it so he would pester me about that fucking stupid plan and I—I didn’t know what else to do but tell him that we were going to do it, that we were going to hurt you. He wanted you to overhear me say those things because he wanted you to stay away from me; he planned all of that out because he knew that I wasn’t going to go through with it. He said that I was going to chicken out and embarrass _him,_ so he decided to ruin things between us so that it could just come to end. So then I busted my hand on his face. It’s—sorry, that sounded so ridiculous. This is—it’s all just so fucked up. Everything about this _sucks_ and I don’t know what to do to fix it. I don’t even know if I can.”

Cas takes a deep breath and drags his eyes up to meet Dean’s; his face is clouded with emotion, several of them flickering behind his eyes. They stare at each other, green into blue, and Cas hopes for the first time that Dean _can_ read his mind. He’d been so careful to keep his feelings for Dean tucked away, but now he feels like he needs to scream it from the rooftops. Anything to show Dean that he’s not out to hurt him, that he doesn’t want to be involved in Ketch’s scheme, that—

“I’m still really fucking hurt,” Dean finally says. “That was… I can’t believe you had been planning to—to humiliate me. _That_ was the foundation of our relationship? Seriously?” He wipes a hand down his face and grimaces. “That’s fucked up, Cas.”

“I know,” he replies quietly.

“I guess the worst part was realizing that it’s all just been a big joke to you, a game. You really had me going—”

“But Dean that’s what I’m trying to tell you.” Cas _needs_ for Dean to understand what’s happened. “What Ketch pulled two weeks ago, that was the result of our relationship _not_ being a joke, it being the _opposite_ of a joke. Dean, this hasn’t been a joke for me since the very first time you spent the night at my apartment. You said something witty about me being the perfect guy but that’s you, that’s all _you._ You’re—”

Dean surprises Cas; he moves suddenly, grabbing Cas by the shoulders and dragging him closer for a kiss. It’s their first kiss and it’s messy and a little too rough but oh God, Cas can feel it in his toes. Just when he’s relaxed into it, Dean shoves him backward. Not too far though, and still gripping his shoulders tightly.

“I’m still really mad at you,” he says. “But… same.”

Cas smiles so wide that his cheeks hurt. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Dean nods, one side of his mouth edging up a little bit. “Yeah.”

Cas squeezes where he’d gripped Dean’s forearms during the kiss, prompting Dean to draw them closer together. Cas lets his hands glide up Dean’s arms and over his shoulders to his back. Their second kiss is a lot like heaven.

“We’re—still—talking—about—this,” Dean mutters between new kisses.

“Yes, Dean.” He smiles, and surrenders.

**Author's Note:**

> I want to say thank you again for reading this! I poured a lot into this one and I'm proud of it. I welcome your comments (and your kudos) and tumblr interactions and messages via carrier pigeon
> 
> [on tumblr](http://profound-boning.tumblr.com/post/163916861449/)


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